Stained Glass
by kurtsontop
Summary: It's been four years since Kurt and Blaine broke up, leaving Blaine alone in Lima to deal with his abusive father while Kurt follows his dreams in New York City. Now, Kurt has a fiance and Blaine is a drug addict. What happens when Kurt tries to take Blaine under his wing but Blaine isn't so sure he's ready to be friends with him? M for language, drug abuse, self harm, sex.
1. You Cut Me Open and I Keep Bleeding Love

**A/N: **My SUPER AWESOME BEST FRIEND and I wrote a fic. This is in progress and updates will be posted every Sunday, HOPEFULLY. Anyways, we've been planning this since around early November and we're finally posting. She's writing Kurt's P.O.V and I'm doing Blaine's. So! I hope you enjoy what we have planned! You can find her part here: s/9910742/1/Blades-of-Temptation

_Trying hard not to hear, but they talk so loud._

_I know the goal is to keep me from falling._

_Nothing's greater than the rush that comes with your embrace._

_But in this world of loneliness, I see your face._

_**You cut me open and I keep bleeding love.**_

"You're high again, aren't you?" Christian was giving him that look. That look he always gave Blaine when he was disappointed but didn't want to show it. He was such a bad actor.

"Would the right answer be no? Because if it is, I would like to lock in that response." Blaine gave a lethargic grin as he seated himself at the piano.

"Blaine..." Christian's arms were crossed over his chest, leaning over the shorter man slightly.

" I can still work. I didn't take more than one shot... Okay that's a lie, it was more like three. But I'm still sober, I swear." He spread his fingers over the keys, pressing a few experimentally.

"You've been playing the same four songs the past three days and I can't tell if I'm horribly depressed, or annoyed." For a straight man, he was one _hell_ of a Drama Queen. "And you've shown up ridiculously high off your ass each time and you keep stealing from the bar. Just because you think that the bartender is stupid enough –which she is _not_, by the way- not to notice you lifting things doesn't make it any better."

"You didn't give me a set list so I'm just doing what comes naturally. You know, as an artist does." Blaine touched a few more keys to finish off his warm up before launching into Against All Odds for the umpteenth time that week.

"Blaine, stop." He looked up at his friend, fingers continuing to flit over the keys. "You need to go home and get some rest, preferably before you take from the bar and get drunk as well. Drugs and alcohol—"

"Don't mix. Yeah, yeah, so I've been told." Things would be so much damn easier if Christian didn't give a fuck whether he died or not. Come to think of it, he probably didn't, he just wouldn't know where to hide the body and wouldn't want a mess on his hands.

"I'm asking you to go home. Take the night off."

"You see, I'd totally be willing if I didn't need the money. So please, take your irritating pestering to someone who will actually listen because right now you're falling on deaf ears." Blaine turned back to the piano, eyes closing as he swayed slightly with the music.

"Play something else or go home." And with that he walked away, off to harass the stupid bitch of a bartender who was probably only hired for her tits. He continued playing, Christian wouldn't actually stop him. He needed him. Who else was going to play the piano? His song morphed into Teenage Dream, much to Christian's feasible dismay. Music was for telling what you didn't know how to talk about, right? Right. Therefore, Blaine would play whatever he damn well felt like playing.

About halfway through the night, Christian came back. "Go." His voice was calm. Too calm. He was never calm. He was an overreacting dramatic prick.

"When my shift is up."

"No, you're leaving now. You're fired, Blaine. Go home, rest up, do homework or _something_."

"You can't just fire me." Blaine stopped playing, pulling his hands from the keys as if the instrument were going to take off his fingers.

"I'm the manager, I can definitely just fire you."

"Chris, I need this job, you know I do—"

"Blaine, I said go. Please. You're attracting attention and I really wanted this to go quietly." He almost looked sad, which was thoroughly disgusting because he wasn't the one losing his fucking job now was he?

Blaine let out a humourless laugh, "Well fuck that. Maybe I'll just get louder. Because I know how much you just _dread_ looking like an asshole." Blaine's voice had increased in volume slightly as he slid off the piano bench. If Christian was going to fire him, than he would just play dirty.

"Please don't do this now. You can yell and scream at me later, but not now."

"I will yell and scream whenever I want to, _Christian_. Because you see, you're not my boss anymore. And I don't give a rat's _ass_ how many customers you could lose. It doesn't go into my pay, and you want to know why? Because I don't _have_ a pay." Blaine leaned forward, a sardonic smile spreading over his face as people started to stare.

"Blaine."

"Christian."

"Stop being an asshole."

"Maybe later."

"God, what happened to you that made you so fucked up!?" Blaine went silent, arms curling around himself defensively as he took a step back, eyes flashing to the people watching their exchange. "What fucking happened to you that turned you into... _This_? You're always high, and if you're not then you're snapping at someone for being in your way or trying to talk to you. You have _no_ friends at all, Blaine. I pay the entire rent because I thought that maybe you just needed some time to get your shit together and sort yourself out but it's been _two years_ and you haven't even tried."

"It doesn't fucking matter what happened. What matters is that it happened and nothing is going to fix it so butt the hell out and go back to waiting tables." He turned and left, shrugging on his worn leather coat as he shoved the glass doors open with such a force it was surprising that he didn't end up shattering them. And it was fucking raining, how splendid. Blaine hunched his shoulders, staring at the sidewalk as he began his walk home.

Who did Christian think he was, shoving his way into Blaine's head and bringing back shitty memories that he'd done his absolute best to lock away? Who the hell gave him the permission to make him hurt the way he hurt now. He hadn't felt like this in a long time. The rain quickly soaked through Blaine's coat, drenching his hair and plastering curls against his forehead. His shoes were drenched the second he got out the door, more or less. The people of New York shuffled by, the sidewalk a sea of black umbrellas and writhing bodies eager to get places even at 11p.m. The never ending stream of yellow taxis littered the road, sirens filling his ears from not too far off. Probably another accident caused by some tourist.

Now that Christian had opened the vault of memories, Blaine didn't know how to close it again. His mind was filled with things from the past. A love lost. A house that was never a home.

He sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly and telling himself that he was having trouble breathing because of the freezing rain seeping through his clothes. Four more blocks. Four more blocks and he would be able to sit down and cut the pain out. He didn't need memories. Memories hurt; they were things that happened in the past. And Blaine certainly wasn't nostalgic.

_They were at their usual coffee shop seated across from each other. Blaine's fingers curled around his coffee cup as Kurt took a sip of his mocha._

"_What happened this time?" Kurt made a vague gesture to the black eye Blaine was sporting, watching his boyfriend's face._

"_Boxing accident?" Blaine nearly strangled himself at how much it sounded like a question. He was always so bad at lying to Kurt._

"_Blaine..."_

"_Kurt, stop. Please. It's fine, it doesn't matter. It'll heal in a few days, it always does. Now, you're leaving tomorrow and I'd rather not spend my last face-to-face conversation with my boyfriend talking about what may or may not have happened during a boxing accident," Blaine tried to hold himself a little taller, plastering on his stage-smile._

"_We've talked enough about New York. This is really serious, Blaine. You _need_ to do something before it gets out of hand." His voice was eerily calm. How could Kurt be so calm about this when Blaine felt as if his heart were going to beat out of his chest at any moment?_

"_I _can't_," he whimpered, eyes squeezing shut so he didn't have to watch the disappointment crossing over his partner's face._

"_Your father is _beating_ you."_

"_I know exactly what he's doing! You really think that I don't know that it's not right? That I'm not scared to go home all the time because that's all I have to go back to? I'm so _scared_, Kurt." Blaine sunk deeper into his chair, eyes dropping to the table._

"_Then do something about it." Kurt reached across the space between them, fingers prying Blaine's from his cup and holding onto his hand._

"_I can't."_

"_Yes, you can! You're so much stronger than this Blaine, I know you are. Go to the police. Tell them what he's doing to you."_

_Blaine ripped his hand away as if he'd been burned, "I _can't_! Don't you see that if I went to someone it would just make it so much worse? Where would I go? My mom ran away the same way you're telling me to. Except I will have _nobody_. Who am I going to go to? You're leaving for New York tomorrow and as much as you say your father likes me, I doubt he'd want to take me in. And I don't want to live with some stranger. It's not as easy as you make it seem."_

"_So help me understand. Why is running away so bad? Why is getting help so bad? He's_hurting_ you, for god's sake!"_

"_He's my dad, Kurt!" Blaine stood up from his chair, pulling his bag on his shoulder. "He's all I have left! Mom's gone. You're leaving. Nobody else cares. He's the only person who still loves me. He looks after me, and sure sometimes he gets stressed out, but he always apologizes. It's like if your dad were to beat you. Your mom is gone and he's all you really have left. If he hit you, would you turn him in? Would you lose the one person that matters the most just because sometimes he has a temper?" Blaine turned on his heel, starting towards the door._

"_Blaine, stop, please just listen to me! It's not the same. He's been hurting you since you were nine years old, do you really think that's okay? Your mom would've taken you with her if she could've, but—"_

"_No, Kurt, she wouldn't have! Because my mother, contrary to your belief, really doesn't give a _damn_ about me!" He shoved open the doors to the coffee shop, trying to ignore Kurt's footsteps chasing after him all the way to his car._

"_You're being unreasonable."_

"_Oh,_I'm_being unreasonable?" He choked out a laugh, arms spread out at his sides. "How the_fuck_—" Kurt took a slight step back at the swear "—am I being unreasonable? You just don't get it. And you never will." He dropped his bag to the pavement beside the car as he unlocked the door._

"_That's not fair and you know it."_

"_What's unfair? That my father hits me and I can't do a thing about it? Or that I have a boyfriend who is leaving me alone with that…that monster?"_

"_Courage, Blaine."_

"_Excuse me?" He turned back to Kurt who was standing with his arms crossed tightly over his chest._

"_You're a hypocrite. How can you tell me to be 'courageous', to 'stand up in the face of my demons', but then you run away from yours like a goddamn coward?" his voice was back to that menacingly calm tone._

"_This is nowhere close to the same thing!"_

"_You know what? Fine. Have it your way. I tried to understand, I tried to help you, but how am I supposed to do that if you won't let me in? I'm going to New York tomorrow, Blaine, I can't be held back by somebody who tells people to do one thing but then won't follow through on his own advice. That's not fair to me and it's not fair to you. I love you, you know that. But I just can't do this anymore." And then he was gone, striding across the parking lot with shoulders hunched. And Blaine didn't know how to feel anymore._

Blaine shoved open the door to the apartment, trying to tell himself that the trails of water over his face were from the rain. That no matter how salty it tasted, he definitely wasn't crying. His nose was running because he was getting sick. That was the only option.

Blaine shrugged off his coat as the steel door slammed shut behind him and he reached back to lock the deadbolt. He kicked off his shoes as he went, drenched socked feet leaving wet footprints across the carpet. His jeans came next, the sodden denim heavy on his hips as they came off nearly of their own accord. The red polo he'd chosen to wear was as good as ruined anyway as he ripped the cotton blend over his head. Blaine threw open the door to his bedroom, nearly tripping himself in the haste to remove socks and grab the shoebox from under his bed.

Blaine sat on the edge of the bed, fingers pushing around the shards of battered and worn once transparent glass; rims tinged an ungodly crimson, as he searched for a piece where the edges weren't too dull. Blaine reached into his nightstand with the suitable sliver clenched in his teeth, fingers finding purchase on his syringe.

There was a certain peace that came with drugs. The feeling of floating was certainly a major plus. His eyes were a little blurry, but whether it was from the heroin or tears, he couldn't tell. Blaine dragged the shard of glass over his forearm once more, four perfectly spaced, even strokes against his skin. One for each year he was left without Kurt. Each year he was left alone to try and make it by himself.

The first stroke had been a little messy, the line shivering in a few places after starting off clean; just like the year had. That year that Kurt had left because he wasn't strong enough.

The second was a little less orderly, more shaky and uneven. The year after Kurt had left and when all this had started. When he got into drugs and began cutting himself with shards of the glass heart he'd got as a gift for Kurt and inevitably smashed.

The third contained a little less weaving; starting with a bit of a wobble and evening out gradually over the length of the cut. The third year he was alone. Blaine started college at his grandfather's insistence and bribery of paying for all school expenses. It was also a way to escape his father. Things had started to get better that year. He was still into drugs, and still occasionally hurt himself to stave off the pain of another day, but things were better.

He let his eyes follow the lines, the rich crimson of the blood dripping off his fingers reminding him of red and yellow roses, warm, kind, sweet, loving blue-green eyes. Home. Blaine bit into his tongue and let out a little pained noise at the memories he wished would finally get out of his head.

The fourth was perfectly smooth, starting strong just like the fourth year. He'd moved on. He'd fucked countless men, got a job, found a place to stay where he didn't have to hide practically everything he owned.

But at the end of the gouge, the wobble was back.


	2. I'm A Broken Man

**A/N: **So chapter two! Yay! Lexi [coffebeanklaine on tumblr and scarvesandcoffe; TheyCantTouchUsOrWhatWeHave here] and I been seriously excited about posting again like all week because we weren't expecting people to be interested and then theY WERE and that made my heart go all aflutter. So thank you thank you thank you! Also, titles are what's in the bold for song lyrics. The lyrics aren't in order because we mashed them up a little. Chapter one was from Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis and this one is Runaway by Maroon 5. In case you were interested! Updates are every Sunday and if they aren't, we can be held at knife-point, you have permission.

_And it breaks me down when I see your face,_

_You look so different but you feel the same._

_And I do not understand, I cannot comprehend,_

_The chills your body sends, why did it have to end?_

**_I'm a broken man._**

Blaine had eventually gotten himself to the kitchen. How he made it there was anybody's guess. He'd changed out of his soaked boxers and into a pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt with so many tears and holes it was surprising that it was still in one piece. He'd seated himself at the island, new bag of Doritos in hand as he let his injured arm rest limply on the counter. It didn't hurt, not really. But come to think of it, nothing really hurt anymore. Except the things in his head. It was annoying to move. His head was fuzzy and every once and awhile he would start laughing for absolutely no reason. He felt good.

It was around 3a.m. that the door to their apartment opened and Christian stepped in. He shrugged off his coat while throwing his keys in the bowl by the door. Blaine gave him a grin, stuffing another handful of chips into his mouth.

Christian gave him a cautious smile as he came into the kitchen –what was there to be cautious about? Blaine was _so_ happy right now- before he let out a startled noise as his eyes fell on Blaine's forearm. "Blaine! What the hell did you do?" His roommate was at his side so quickly that Blaine started giggling again. Wow, he was like a superhero he was so fast.

"There was a very vicious cat in the alley way," he slurred around chuckles.

"Blaine."

"There was this one hooker who was one _hell_ of a cougar. Kitty had claws."

Christian's arms crossed over his chest and he lifted an eyebrow, "Blaine.."

"Wolverine got me."

His friend paused, eyebrows drawing together slightly, "Wolverine has three claws.."

"Okay, whatever. It doesn't matter." Blaine went back to smiling at his chips as if they were the best things in the world; which they totally were.

"I'll be right back." And with that Christian disappeared down the hallway, leaving Blaine to snicker at his chips and bad jokes that he muttered to himself.

Christian returned a short time later, first aid kit in hand. "Blaine, will you sit still, damn it!"

"It tickles!"

"Blaine!"

"Fine, sorry." He slouched into his chair, pout washing over his face as he held out the arm for his roommate obediently and let him wrap it.

"How high are you?"

"I'm not. I'm just _so_ happy. I haven't been happy in a super duper long time." Blaine gave Christian a grin as he swayed in his seat slightly, drawing out the 'o' in 'long'.

"Blaine, you're high as a kite. You hurt yourself again, didn't you?" Christian's voice was sad, but it was as if he already knew. Of course he knew, it wasn't something that wasn't obvious.

Blaine's eyes dropped to the marble-top in front of him, unable to look up and see the disappointment swimming on his friend's face. "Doesn't matter..." He wrung his fingers, idly picking at the edge of the bandage.

"Please tell me what happened. This isn't my fault, is it?" Christian reached out to touch Blaine's arm, hand hesitating before resting fingertips against his bicep.

"No. No, it's not your fault. It's fine, I'm okay." Blaine looked up, giving his roommate a broad grin that never touched his eyes. He hoped Christian wouldn't notice but as always, he had no such luck.

"It is. It's because of what I said."

"Well stop fucking grazing the surface and ask what you want to know if you're so damn interested." Blaine slid off his chair, stumbling on unsteady feet to the couch. Christian followed, and he wanted nothing more than to rip out his own hair.

"What happened? What did this to you?" Christian sat beside him, hands folded in his lap. He was quiet. Whenever he was quiet it meant that he was honestly engrossed in the subject. Why the fuck did he even have to care? It was easier when what he did didn't matter. It was the way it was supposed to be, he wasn't supposed to be anything to anybody.

Blaine tried to stop himself, he did. But he couldn't help the little word that fell from his lips, "Who."

Christian leaned forward, fingers reaching out to touch Blaine's knee. "Who did this to you?"

The name was foreign on his tongue. He didn't know how to say it. Blaine twisted his hands together, mouth opening without sound. Memories of a warm smile, eyes the colour of the ocean, a cerulean mixture of the stars, a laugh like rich bells; lips the colour of pale roses, skin a smooth plain of alabaster. Chestnut hair coifed up with such precision it was like rocket science, eyebrows carefully sculpted. Cheeks that tinged pink with compliments, a shy smile, a gaze that felt like home. Warm, familiar arms and the scent of coconut and mangos.

"K-Kurt," he choked on the name, face crumpling as his eyes welled up with tears that had remained unshed for years. He looked up at his friend, eyebrows drawn together in pain as a single bead of liquid rolled off his eyelashes.

"Oh, Blaine." Christian moved toward him before he had a chance to protest, arms circling his shoulders and pulling Blaine up against his chest. Blaine's fingers curled around the collar of Christian's black work polo as a sob burst from his lips. Soothing hands rubbed up and down his back as he cried harder, one fist thumping dully against his roommate's chest a few times with the wail of a man bearing a broken soul.

The tears kept coming, rivers of sorrow streaming over his cheeks and seeping into the material of his friend's shirt. He felt like he'd been crying forever. Years of pent up sadness all bubbling to the surface and boiling over. He'd fucked up. _He_ was fucked up. Everything was_fucked up_. Christian's hand was still warm on his shoulder blade, the other petting over the back of his head and neck; fingertips running through his hair. There were times when Blaine thought the tears were subsiding only for them to come back with twice their vigour. He was shaking, face tucked against Christian's throat as his breath stuttered and caught. Every time he had almost calmed down, flashes of blue eyes and a warm smile wrenched him back into the never-ending abyss of agony.

His head was positively throbbing, and he felt that if he opened his eyes the tears would burn more than they already were. His knuckles were white and aching, nails biting into his palms even through the shirt collar clutched in his hands. He couldn't let go, if he let go he would fall.

Memories of Kurt holding him this same way invaded his mind. When Blaine had run to him after his dad had shoved him into the bookcase and left hideous purple-green splotches up the planes of his back. When he told Kurt for the first time that his father beat him up almost daily, and that was the reason that he had boarded at Dalton. He'd started crying and hadn't stopped. Kurt cried with him, wrapping him in his arms the way Christian was now. He'd pressed a kiss into Blaine's hair, whispering promises that he'd never leave him alone.

Blaine let out another sob, moving his arms to snake around Christian's waist and clutch him closer. Instead, he was here; all but screaming –he had been earlier- into the chest of the only person that he could call a friend. The reassurances murmured against his curls just brought on more waves of tears, and he sobbed himself into unconsciousness.

He had a fitful sleep. He dreamt of Kurt, of course he did. There was never a night that he didn't. Some nights were different. Sometimes he dreamt of their breakup, which was the easier to handle. He asked himself how that was 'easy' to deal with every time he screamed himself awake. How was watching the love of your life, your _soul mate_, walk away from you am easy thing?

But other nights he had nightmares. Honest to God terrors from hell. Dreams that felt so real that it took everything in him, every ounce of his existence not to do something horribly rash and thoughtless. And it wasn't as if these dreams were bad; that was the worst part. Vivid reruns of the happy times they had together. Their first time, their first kiss, their first Christmas, the promise ring. They were all on a sadistic tape, replaying over, and over, and over again until Blaine felt like he was going insane. He probably was.

Tonight however, was different. Tonight was quiet, too quiet. Blaine never went a night without dreaming. Ever. He'd suffered horrible insomnia for a long time just trying to escape the reality of his mind. It had never worked. Eventually he'd passed out from sheer exhaustion.

But right now.. He was walking in circles in a room without light. He couldn't feel the floor beneath him, he couldn't see his hands. He couldn't _feel_. He was floating. Free falling was probably a better term. And then he wasn't. A staircase. _The_ staircase. He felt like he needed to be somewhere. Blaine hurried down the steps, checking the pocket watch that hadn't worked for a long time like routine.

"Excuse me?"

Blaine fell down the stairs, and before he hit his head he was floating again. He heard a scream, voice cracked with so much pain and agony that he felt as if his heart was breaking. Flashes of a glass heart shattering against a brick wall. And then he was on the ground, clutching at his eye. He was cold, so cold. And there was an ever-repeating mantra of his name in _that_ voice, a warm hand at his hip. His eye burned for a reason he didn't have the heart to place.

His vision flashed red and he was against the wall of his father's study, firm hands holding him against the plaster. He was so confused. Why here? Why now? Hadn't he got away? The hands moved and he was falling again. To a bed.

Soft fingers clutched at his hips, a tongue working over his Adam's apple in such a practiced ease that it could only come from experience. He heard himself let out a moan, feeling his fingers tighten in his invisible lover's hair.

"_Kurt_."

He was holding the hand of the boy he finally realized that he loved. God, Blaine. You can be so dense sometimes.

"You move me, Kurt. And this duet would just be an excuse to spend more time with you..." He felt himself leaning forward and then he was engulfed in a pair of arms, and the smell of coconut and mango hit his nose.

"Our first Christmas together."

Black. Everything was black and Blaine didn't understand. How did things end up this way? Why did they? Could he have done something differently? For the first time, he didn't yell himself awake. And he knew he wouldn't remember this come morning.

Blaine woke up with a throbbing headache, eyes that stung, and he couldn't feel his arms. There was a blanket draped over his legs and he was on the couch. He moved his arm to cover his eyes, the bandage tugging slightly and reminding him that last night wasn't just a terrible nightmare. "Close the fucking curtains before my head explodes." His voice was like gravel, dragging over his vocal chords in the most excruciating way. He heard his friend's footsteps on the hardwood as he strode past, the breeze that followed making Blaine's stomach churn. The room darkened considerably as the curtains were dragged closed with a noise that sounded like marbles in his head.

"I'm making breakfast." At least he had the sense to whisper. "Do you want an omelet? Something easy to swallow? Because no offense but your voice sounds like shit so I'm going to assume that your throat hurts." When Blaine moved his arm Christian stood over him, a tentative smile touching his lips.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks." He rolled onto his side at a pace that was embarrassingly slow, biting back a groan of pain as his head pounded its protest. His roommate hovered a moment longer, watching to make sure that he wasn't going to drop dead before he made his way back to the kitchen. A glass of water and three Tylenol lay on the coffee table in the oddest arrangement; two off to the side and one standing alone. Christian was like fucking Mama Goose when it came to Blaine, even if he did have the strangest tendencies. He braced himself on an arm, pushing into a sitting position weakly as the blanket slid to the floor. The room spun and he felt sick, wrapping his arm around his stomach as he squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck.

"Are you okay?" Christian's voice called to him from the kitchen and when Blaine turned he was watching him sway on the cushions, worry creasing his brow as he flipped the omelet without looking. Fucking bastard.

"Yeah, yeah fine. I just.. Bathroom." He pulled himself off the couch, holding a hand to his head as the wall decorations tinged a sickly colour.

"So who was this... Kurt guy, anyways?" Christian had turned back to the stove, his voice carrying an almost teasing lilt. Blaine froze halfway down the hallway, fingers curling into fists at his sides as he sucked in a slow breath.

"A memory."

"Want me to beat him up or something?" Blaine knew he was joking, he really did. Somewhere he knew he didn't mean it. But that didn't mean that he didn't snap.

"If you ever fucking touch him I will kill you." And the bathroom door slammed shut with such a force that the walls rattled.


	3. NORKIHDOIHS

**A/N: **Yooooo, so this is early. But I hope there's no complaints? So, this one is like.. double the length of the previous two, and I like it a lot. Mentions of Blaine/OC and some interaction there. Anyways, this song is Bad Girlfriend by Theory of a Deadman, but we switched the gender, obviously. Anyways, enjoy!

_Come together, leave alone,_

_See you later back at home._

**_No one really knows if he's drunk or if he's stoned_**_._

_But does it make it wrong to have the time of his life?_

Christian wouldn't stop knocking on the fucking door. "Blaine, please, you know I didn't mean it." The wall was such a lovely cream colour; legs that went on forever, a smooth milky abdomen. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, sucking in a tight breath through his nose. Why why why why? He was cross-legged on the floor leaning back against his bed. His ass kind of hurt but that was to be expected considering he'd been sitting around for nearly three hours. What the fuck was he even doing? He hated this. He hated what was in his head. He wished that he could just bleach his fucking brain.

"Blaine, just come out so we can talk about this." _Why wouldn't he go away?_ Maybe Blaine would just slit his throat. He could sit by the door so that Christian would be able to see the blood, so that he could _watch_. Except unfortunately he was too much of a coward and he definitely wasn't a sadist.

Blaine let his head fall back to rest against the edge of the mattress. The only question he had was why. And it was a question that would probably never be answered. Why wasn't he stronger? Why hadn't he followed Kurt? How had he let him just walk away like that? He never even fucking _tried_.

"Blai—"

"Christian, if you don't shut the fuck up and go the fuck away I swear to God I'll throw myself out this damn window." He heard a noise from the other side of the door before footsteps retreated down the hallway. Blaine closed his eyes, fingers clenching against his thighs into the material of his sweats.

_"Hey no, come back." Blaine's fingers reached for his boyfriend, lower lip pushing out in that half-pout he always used to get what he wanted._

_"I'm cold and naked and sticky and disgusting and I need a shower." He could hear the panic in Kurt's voice, a rich scarlet spreading up the back of his neck and over his shoulders._

_"Kurt, please come back." His fingers were still twitching in the air between them, pleading. He watched as Kurt sat back on the edge of the bed. "Please come lay with me? Just for a little while?"He watched at his boyfriend turned slightly, throwing a meager glance at Blaine._

_"Okay." Kurt turned, quickly slipping under the bed sheet as he made his way back to Blaine. There was a rosy flush over Kurt's cheeks and across the bridge of his nose, creeping down his throat and over the top of his chest._

_"You're so beautiful, please always remember that." Blaine reached up to brush a stray lock of hair off Kurt's forehead as he leaned over the shorter boy. The older boy paused a second, a slow smile taking over his lips as his face seemed to grow an even deeper shade of red._

_"You're not so bad yourself." Blaine let out an 'oof' noise as Kurt dropped himself onto his partner's chest with a contented hum. "I love you."_

_Blaine's breath hitched, tears blurring his vision, "I love you, too. More than anything."_

And it was still fucking true. He was still in love with a man who didn't want him. Who up and left just like everybody else did. Blaine rolled his head against the edge of the bed, eyes opening to look at the wooden box that had migrated to his dresser. His hands loosened on his thighs, fingers opening slowly. He wished he could fix it. He just wanted to see him. Even if it was from a distance. Was he happy? Did he find a new boyfriend who would treat him right and have the courage to look after them both? Did he graduate from NYADA yet? God, what year was it even? Did he miss Blaine? Did he think about him as much as the vise-versa? What if he hated him? What if he ended up the way Blaine was now? Miserable and lost and _alone_.

But no, definitely not. He was much stronger than that. He wouldn't let some silly, stupid boy ruin his whole life. Because Kurt wasn't like that. He was so much stronger and he as so brave and he'd have looked after himself if nobody else would. He was a fighter.

_"I'm so disappointed, Blaine. You know that I just want you to be happy and successful." The sheer disgust painted over his father's face broke Blaine's heart. He didn't ask for this._

_"But I _am_ happy. He makes me so happy and he makes me want to succeed and follow my dreams and _live_." Blaine's fingers twisted together as he tried to fight the smile off his face. Now was apparently not the time to appear love-struck._

_"He's a _boy_, you're a _boy_. That is positively _revolting_ and you damn well know it." He watched as his father's eyes narrowed considerably before he made a feeble attempt to school his expression._

_"I like _boys_, dad. Just because you want me to go out and fuck some girl—"_

_"Watch your language, young man."_

_"I'm sure you'd be all sunshine and rainbows if I got her pregnant, but as soon as I want to kiss a boy the gates of Hell open up."_

_"Bla—"_

_"No, I won't be.. held back by you! You always talk about wanting to let me live my life and yet here I am in _shackles_, And I'm so fucking tired of you pushing me arou—" Blaine's back collided with the bookcase, wooden shelf breaking with the impact and books fell with him as he hit the floor. Exhibit A._

_"Learn where your place is." His father's eyes were cold, harsh blue that was like ice cutting at his heart._

_"I know where my place is," Blaine's vision clouded as he pulled himself up, "and it definitely isn't here."_

_And then he was driving, tears wetting his cheeks as he tried to keep it together. Tried to keep on the road and not get in an accident because he needed to get to Kurt. He needed to be okay. And he needed to stop fucking crying._

Blaine clenched his jaw, hand lifting to run through his hair sub-consciously. He needed to sleep.

"Blaine..."

"Go away." He pulled himself off the floor, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as the room tilted and his back protested.

"I'm just really sorry, okay? I don't know how much he meant to you, but I have a pretty good idea and I'm just so sorry."

Blaine tugged off his shirt, tossing it to the laundry hamper in the corner. "It's fine. Just leave me alone, please." He dropped down on the edge of the bed, fingertips rubbing against his temples. His head still fucking hurt.

"I brought you food. And pain medicine. And orange juice."

"I just fucking sat down.." He let out a groan, tipping himself off the mattress once more and wobbling towards the door where he flicked open the lock before returning to his place. "It's open."

Christian pushed open the door with his toe, shuffling his way into the room with a tray of food, eyes staying on the carpet as he set it on Blaine's dresser. He turned to face the shorter boy, who'd sprawled himself across his bed, supine and staring unseeingly at the off-white stucco ceiling.

"Did you want something?" Blaine's eyes moved to rest on his roommate, taking in his almost expectant expression with disdain.

"I just.."

"Get out, before I find some way to maim you without moving." His gaze flicked back to the roof, fingers toying with the bed sheet he was on top of. And Christian was gone, door closing behind him with a faint click.

Blaine woke up around 7p.m, twitching and literally _aching_ to just get out and do something. The tray Christian had brought still lay untouched. To be honest, he just felt like getting _really_ drunk. Blaine shoved open his bedroom door, stumbling his way to the bathroom on feet that felt pitifully uncoordinated.

"Blaine?" Christian's voice echoed down the hallway, tentative steps against the hardwood.

"Why the hell are you even still here? Don't you have, y'know, a _job_ to be at?" Blaine braced his hands on the sink, leaning forward to look at himself in the mirror. Man, he looked like shit. Not like that was anything new.

"I took tonight off; I wanted to make sure that you were okay."

"I don't need a fucking babysitter, Christian." He pushed away from the porcelain, shoulder knocking into his roommate's as he retreated to his room to get changed.

"You can't threaten to kill yourself and then expect me to just leave you here alone." He was leaning against Blaine's doorframe, seeming unfazed as the shorter man yanked off his sweats and began rummaging through his dresser in his briefs.

"I'm going out." Blaine kept his eyes trained on his clothing as he dug out a pair of tattered dark wash skinny jeans.

"What? Where?" Christian seemed taken aback, eyes wide as he took a step into the room.

"Out. I'll go get drunk and fuck some guy and forget about Kurt for awhile until I wake up and have to remember him all over again." Blaine slammed the drawer closed with a shove, grabbing the articles of clothing he'd decided on before heading back to the bathroom.

"Blaine, running away isn't going to solve anything." _Oh my fucking God_. Why couldn't he just get that maybe Blaine didn't want to solve things anymore? He would just let things run their course and be the deplorable pawn.

"Fuck off." He slammed the door, dropping his clothing on the toilet lid as he shucked his underwear and turned on the shower.

"I just want to help you." Blaine stepped in the tub, dragging the glass partition shut.

"I don't need help." He slid under the stream of hot water, letting out a breathy sigh that bordered on a moan as his body relaxed instantly under the spray. Showers were good. He should have more showers. Blaine ran a hand through his hair, sopping curls falling over his forehead and dripping water into his eyes. He grabbed his body wash off the rack along with the loofah and set to work on scrubbing himself down.

"Just because you don't want it, doesn't mean you don't need it."

Blaine let out a high moan edging pornographic as his palm thumped against the wall for effect and he tossed his head back, "Oh shit, that feels so fucking good. I can't wait to have a pretty mouth stretched around my aching dick." He grinned to himself as footsteps quickly retreated down the hallway. Christian wasn't homophobic by any means, but as soon as it came to the practice of such, he stayed his distance.

Blaine continued with his shower, massaging his fingers through his hair and nearly purring as the ache caused by wayward curls was washed away with the shampoo. He would go out, get drunk, meet some guy, fuck him into the mattress, and then kick him out. Routine. Christian would complain the next morning, as he always did. He would bitch and moan about how 'at least one of us is getting laid but _please_ keep it down or buy me a pair of really good ear plugs.' Blaine did neither. He finished washing and stepped out of the shower, rubbing the towel through his hair.

Tonight was going to be _his_ night.

The club always held a distinctive odour. It wasn't unpleasant, per say, but it was a constant smell so strong you could almost taste it. Smoke hung heavy in the air, lights from the dance floor transferring with a ghostly hue. But it was a safe place, somewhere Blaine knew he could breathe. He knew all the dancers – strippers, but whatever – and after he'd given the manager 'the best blowjob in his life' he got all his drinks for free. Being there felt like he was home. He was accepted and _wanted_, eyes roving over his body as he made his way to the bar, despite nine o'clock being fairly early. Even though he mostly made a complete fool of himself, he felt _good_. He slid into a barstool just as his drink was slid across the counter. It also felt great to know people.

"Blainey! Haven't seen you around in awhile. Where you been, buddy?" Jack was the tall, dark, and handsome type. Shoulders that were just a touch on the broader side, tapering into a trim waist and legs that seemed miles long. He was a sight for sore eyes.

Blaine couldn't help the grin that peeled across his face as the taller man all but threw himself in his lap. "Around."

"You're so fucking lame. Come around more. We all miss you." Jack tucked his face against Blaine's throat, pressing a hot and open-mouthed kiss there before pulling away and nearly falling off Blaine's thighs with an excited bounce. "Come dance!"

He curled his arm around Jack's waist, finger tapping at his glass as he raised an eyebrow, "Can I finish this drink first? I want to be completely smashed by the end of the night."

The other man made an exasperated noise, tossing his head back in mock-frustration before giving Blaine the look of a man with a plan. "That can be arranged," he said as he slid out of Blaine's half-embrace, giving his shoulders a little shimmy as he disappeared into the crowd. Blaine downed his drink at an alarming rate that should have been rather impressive considering the size of the glass before spinning around on the stool and following in the direction that Jack had headed.

A solid body pressed up against his back, fingers gripping tight at his hips before sliding around to press against his stomach and a chin hooked over his shoulder. "You're so damn tense; you really need to loosen up." Jack's breath was warm against his ear, tongue flicking out to graze the shell.

"Why do you think I'm here?" Blaine let his friend grind against him, pushing his ass back slightly and rocking his hips with the music.

"Please come around more. Mikey misses you. He never stops talking about you."

"I have school." Blaine's head fell back on Jack's shoulder, arms coming up to thread his fingers into the other man's hair.

"Oh please, you rarely go. And I heard you got fired, so that frees up a lot of your time." Jack's hands slid south, fingertips playing at Blaine's belt buckle.

"We'll see." Blaine spun in the taller man's arms, hands resting on his shoulders.

"So, how drunk are we getting you?" Jack gave a salacious grin, one hand sliding down to cup Blaine's ass through his jeans as it slid into his back pocket.

"I don't know. I have some shit that needs forgetting." He pressed back into Jack's palm.

"So; shitfaced."

"I wanna live here. I'll just stay here forever and be an artist and just... make art." Blaine's feet slid out from under him as Jack's arms wound around his chest and boosted him onto the barstool.

"Good luck. God, how much have you had to drink?" Jack's mouth was at his ear, warm breath tickling against the shell and causing Blaine to start giggling.

"It's been like... four, or something." Blaine's hand came up to touch Jack's cheek. "Wow, you're so tall."

"Nah, you're just tiny as fuck." He leaned down to press a quick kiss to Blaine's lips, pulling back when the smaller man's tongue tried to slip into his mouth.

"Blaine!" His head snapped up at the sound of his name, grin spreading across his face as he slid off the stool. Michael bounded towards them, blond hair wet where it hung over his forehead. He greeted Blaine with his lips, hand slipping around the back of the dark haired man's neck where his fingers slid into curls.

"I've fucking missed you like hell."

"You mean your dick has missed me." Blaine gave him a smirk as his hands trailed down to rest on the slight man's hips.

"Ass too. Where have you even been? Joey was about ninety-eight percent sure that you were dead. His words, not mine." Michael's palms rubbed down over his shoulders slowly, fingertips pressing at Blaine's biceps.

"I _had_ a job. And school. You all forget that unlike you sore losers, I have a life to attend to." Blaine's smile widened as the other man gave an exasperated huff.

"_This_ is my job," he wiggled his hips forward against Blaine's slightly.

"Speaking of which, when are you on? I've missed seeing you dance." Blaine pushed out his lower lip, fighting back a grin as Michael gave a little laugh.

"Soon, soon. All in good time, sir. I better go get prepared, I suppose. Need to dress to impress." He pressed a kiss to Blaine's nose as he shimmied away, hips twisting to the beat of the music as he headed for the back room.

"You're just going to take it all off anyways!" Blaine called after him, leaning against the bar and looking up at Jack.

"It's ridiculously awesome to have you back. Everyone else around here is boring as fuck, and they aren't even _good_ fucks. I mean, that's my assumption because they're all such miserable kissers that I haven't even tried to take a man home in..." Jack's eyebrows scrunched together, "what day is it?"

"November 20th. It's a Sunday." Blaine smiled at his friend's obvious mental math, chuckling at the concentration painted across his face.

"It's been thirteen days. Blaine, I haven't gotten laid in _thirteen days_." His expression washed over with horror. "Am I losing my touch? What if _I'm_ the miserable kisser?" Jack's hands found Blaine's arms. "What if I never have a good bang ever again?"

Blaine let out a high laugh, eyes crinkling as he brought a hand up to cover his mouth. "You're overreacting. You'll find someone worthy. And if you don't, I'll fuck you myself." A slow smile pulled its way across Jack's face. "Now if you'll excuse me, there's a very sexy stripper in leather making an appearance at this very moment in time and I wish to acquaint my tongue with the backs of his teeth." Blaine gave the taller man a wink, sliding away from the counter and heading to where Michael had been introduced.

He boosted himself up on the stage and sidled towards the other man. When he'd first started his attempts at getting onto the platform, management had interfered. But they'd soon learned that no matter what they did, he was always going to do it again. It wasn't as if he was starting fights, and according to the bar's reviews, the observers seemed to like the show. Michael turned towards him, wiggling his shoulders with a sly smile and beckoning Blaine with a 'come hither' motion.

Their mouths met immediately, one of Blaine's hands curling around the back of Michael's neck to hold him there as he twisted his head to the side. A few cheers drifted over the still pumping music and Blaine pressed his tongue into the other man's mouth. They moved together, Michael's fingers pressing and pulling at Blaine's hips with enough pressure to bruise as their mouths moved in tandem. He felt dizzy, drunk more off the pair of lips attached to his own than whatever amount of alcohol he'd consumed over the course of the night. He took a slight step back and he felt like he was floating. Floating until his head smacked against the pavement floor.

There was a shriek from someone and he opened his eyes slowly. _What the fuck just happened?_ He had to have passed out. That was the only excuse for the pale face that loomed over him with chestnut hair that swooped off his forehead and cheeks tinged pink with inebriation. The only excuse for the startling blue eyes that left him alone in a parking lot late one afternoon.

"Whoa, how hard did I hit my head?" Blaine grinned up dopily at the look-alike.

"Blaine-" there it was, that voice that sounded like angels crying, "-you're still conscious."

"How are you even _real_? How have we never met? Oh my God, you're so _pretty_." Blaine reached his hand up to cup the other man's jaw, thumb petting at a cheekbone as a lethargic grin spread over his face.

"Jesus, you really hit your head, didn't you?" Concern spread over Mystery-Man's face and an arm came around Blaine's waist to help pull him off the floor. "Come on, let's go get some ice for that head." Blaine stumbled after the taller man as the support disappeared.

"Man, you have a _great_ ass." In all honesty, he wanted to fuck him silly, and it was a tragedy that they hadn't met previously.

"Eyes on your own paper, shorty," the voice drifted to him from over the man's shoulder.

"Hey! I'm not short, I'm—"

"Fun-sized?" He quirked an eyebrow as they reached the bar, beckoning over the tender while Blaine wiggled his way onto a stool.

"How did you know what I was going to say? Are you a mind reader? Shit, I hope you aren't because I've been thinking about doing some positively sinful things to that behind of yours." Blaine let his eyes roam over the man's body shamelessly, lingering at the ring on his finger briefly before trailing down the length of his long, _long_ legs.

"You've said it before," Pretty-Boy half-mumbled, reaching around Blaine's head to press the icepack there gently. "Hold."

For some unknown reason the words didn't quite register, eyes instead settling on the white gold ring. "I've always wanted to mess around with a married man." His voice dropped down to that gravelling tone, pupils dilating slightly as he looked back at the man's face, lecherous smirk stretching his lips.

Mystery-Man sputtered, looking away from Blaine with cheeks that coloured obviously, even in the dim lights of the bar. "We will be doing no 'messing around.'" It was nearly a sneer, hands wringing together in a way that seemed far too familiar.

"So," Blaine leaned forward slightly, "what's your name, oh married man? Because why else would you be here at a _gay bar_ if you were perfectly happy with your husband?" A look crossed over the man's face. "Ooh, fiancé? What, did he propose and you said yes because he had a nice dick and now you're realizing that he doesn't know how to use it?"

"You know my name, Blaine." He looked up at him, bar lights shedding a pale blue limn over the apples of his cheeks.

_He was so fucking beautiful. Blaine had woken up in the middle of the night, treading down the hallway to use the bathroom and when he returned Kurt had rolled over in his sleep; face turned towards the window with curtains drawn and moonlight bathing him in soft whites and shadows._

_Blaine crawled back into bed carefully, propping his head up on a palm to watch his boyfriend sleep. _Is that creepy? I think it's creepy._ He looked so peaceful, so happy. His chest rose and fell with laboured breaths, eyes flickering behind closed lids and nose wrinkling up every so often. He was so very _perfect.

Blaine was going to pass out. He was going to fall off his seat and knock himself unconscious and if he was lucky he'd kill himself in the process, or at least go comatose. His hands shook, icepack falling to the floor with a wet smack. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe and he was going to die right fucking there. Blaine fought to suck in a breath, chest heaving as his heart gave a weak lurch. He was going to be sick.

Blaine pushed himself off the barstool, grabbing the counter for support as he looked back up at the man incredulously. Why here? Why now? Because for some reason the fucking Universe hated him. "Kurt..." He felt like throwing up, designer shoes be damned. "Why are you _here_?" His voice wasn't half as steady as he was aiming for, teeth chattering together almost audibly as his legs shook.

"I could ask you the same question."

"Because this is what I _do_. His is all I have, Kurt!" Something broke in the other man, face crumpling slightly. _Yeah, it's okay, I know I'm a failure. I don't need reminding._

"You don't need to do... this, Blaine." There it was. That eerily calm voice again for fuck sake. "I'm so sorry that you're here, I'm sorry you're—"

"That I'm what? A fuck-up?" Because yes, Kurt, actually I do need to do this. But you wouldn't know, would you?" Blaine couldn't help the way his eyebrows scrunched together, eyes narrowing at the man in front of him.

"I'm so sorry, Blaine, I really am." Kurt reached up to run a hand through his hair and there was the ring again, glinting in the light as if mocking him.

"Wait. You're... Kurt please don't tell me you're married already. You're not thirty yet. You had _plans_. What happened to graduating from NYADA? What happened to getting on Broadway and playing Angel in _RENT_?" Blaine's fingers flexed against the wood, stomach twisting.

Kurt let out a dry laugh as if he were surprised that Blaine even remembered. "Plans change, Blaine. People change," his tone was so bitter, quickly snapping from calm to whatever _this_ was.

The younger man sucked in a shivering breath, eyes clamping shut as he tried to make the room stop spinning. "I really hope he treats you right. Because if not, I'll break his fucking legs." Blaine shoved off the bar, dashing for the back exit as Kurt shouted after him.

There were too many people. Not enough air. He had to get away, had to escape before Kurt caught him. The walls took on a sickly colour, room tilting as he shoved the door open hard enough that he tripped into the alley and barely caught himself on the opposite wall. Everything was so tight. His clothes were constricting, the walls were closing in on him and he couldn't fucking _breathe_.

He stumbled his way out of the corridor, fingers clutching at the brick as his eyes blurred. There was no way he was going to be able to get himself home. Blaine reached into his pocket, fumbling with his phone until hitting three on speed dial.

"Blaine?"

"Christian, I need you to come get me. I need you to come get me _now_. I'm a little drunk and- I feel like I'm dying. Please, please come get me. I can't handle it if- Please—"

"Shut up. Oh my God, shut up. Where are you?" There was a loud noise on the other side of the line followed by the jingling of keys and a slamming door.

"Fuck. Fuck, I don't know. Somewhere on twenty-first. Starts with a 'B' I think." Blaine's knees gave out and he sunk to the concrete. "Please hurry."

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Breathe."

"I can't. Please don't hang up on me. I can't be alone. You were right, you're always right." He choked on the words, hot tears streaming down his face.

"Blaine, I'm on my way, okay? I won't hang up on you."

"Thank you, thank you. Oh God, thank you."


	4. A Song For A Heart So Big

A/N: SO THIS ONE. Wow this one is a bit of a mouthful as a chapter. There's a brief mention of sexual assault accusations and minor teacher-student interaction. I'm recommending like none of this. Can we fucking talk about Blaine's mood-swings because holy shit. ALSO REVIEWS. Getting reviews has been really fucking awesome. I've never written a full length fic before, partially because I never had good enough ideas and partially because I've kept to drabbles and one-shots and everything tiny in this Universe due to it being so much easier to write. My attention span is small so finding something that I really want to focus on is probably the best thing in the world. So getting reviews for the first thing I've set my soul to just warms the cockles of my heart. Most of this chapter was written at my Grandparent's house during a family Christmas thing where I hid myself in their basement with my laptop and set to work grinding this out. And I think it's safe to say that I'm proud of the products of my family-avoiding skills. Lexi and I thank all of you who've taken an interest in this as of thus far because I promise that it means the entire world to us to find people liking what's in our heads. SO thank you from the bottom of our hearts and I hope that we don't fail to satisfy over the course of this fic. This has been a killer author's note and for that you have my apologies. This song is "Hear You Me" by Jimmy Eat World.

_I never said thank you for that,_

_now I'll never have a chance._

_And if you were with me tonight,_

_I'd sing to you just one more time._

_**A song for a heart so big**._

He woke up in bed, the alarm clocks glowing green numbers indicating that it was exactly 11:21 a.m. There was a navy blue wash bucket on the floor, glass of water and Tylenol on his nightstand. Christian deserved a fucking fruit basket or something. The stucco ceiling seemed to mock him, shadows created from the ridges swirling together in a way that couldn't be natural. Blaine was going to die. His stomach was on fire, twisting and churning while his head throbbed out its own drum beat. Everything ached and he was pretty sure if he rolled over he would die on the spot. Even his fucking fingers hurt.

Blaine clenched his teeth, sucking in a few preparatory breaths that did nothing but make him feel lightheaded before slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. He didn't need the pain medicine, no. He needed a distraction.

_The car was almost silent save for Blaine's stuttering breathing. He was curled up in the chair, seatbelt swaying slightly with the jolts of the vehicle from where it hung unused. Christian spared him worried glances, taking the risk of removing his eyes from the road and the ever moving –albeit slowly- traffic. Blaine's head thumped dully against the window frame as his finger slipped on the black button and he struggled to roll it down._

_Everything was too tight, too small. Blaine's eyes squeezed shut against the crisp night air that seeped through the crack in the window and tousled sweat-damp curls. The car stopped in front of their apartment a hell of a lot quicker than it should have taken to get home and Blaine couldn't get out fast enough; chest heaving and heart pounding as he staggered towards the ceiling high glass lobby doors._

_"Blaine! You're going to get yourself killed." Christian's hands found Blaine's shoulders and held him upright._

_"Maybe I want to die," he snapped back, wrenching himself out of Christian's hold and leaning heavily on the worn brass handles. "Not now. Please don't do this now. I need to breathe. Just go finish with the car, I'll be fine."_

Blaine's fingers slipped on the handle of his nightstand drawer, upper body tumbling forward as his palms struck the carpet. He was half-twisted off the bed, legs tangled still in the thin sheets. His stomach gave a roll in protest, arms quivering under his body weight as he made no move to right himself.

There was a soft knock on the door, the tentative rap of knuckles sounding like gunshots. He made a grunt in the affirmative that cracked in his throat, vocal chords grinding together painfully. The door creaked open slowly and Christian took a step inside, eyes falling on Blaine's frame with unease.

"I was going to ask if you were okay, but I can see that you're not." His roommate chewed on his lip slowly, earthy green eyes sweeping the distance in carpet between them as if he were wondering whether or not he should come further.

"I'm fine." Blaine pushed himself up slowly, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress as he made a second attempt for the nightstand. He succeeded, tugging it open and glancing in at the contents with an expression that quickly turned sour. "Fucking fuck me."

"Blaine?" Christian was still standing in the doorway, fingers wringing together as he watched in silence.

"Nothing. Go to class. I have to go as well, apparently." He slid off the bed, sheet sinking down around his feet as he gave an experimental stretch, arms reaching above his head. Christian gave him another little dubious look before retreating, pulling the door closed with him as he went and leaving Blaine alone in the openness of his room.

The curly-haired man took a slow step, wincing as his entire body practically hissed in protest. A hot shower and coffee would help. It was the little things.

When he had finished cleaning up Christian was already gone, coffee machine still on and bread in the toaster. He cared too much. Blaine pushed down the lever, settling for dry toast and coffee as he continued to towel his hair. The contents that he drank the night before seemed to slosh in his head rather than stomach, the ache behind his eyes ever present as Blaine threw the used towel over the back of the dining room chair and leaned against the counter for support. He had been doing so good; everything had been going so well and then _Kurt_ just had to come back and fuck everything up. What bothered Blaine the most is that he had practically wished it to happen. Wished to see him once more, to see if he was okay and successful and not hurting the way Blaine was. _Be careful what you wish for_.

He started as the toaster popped, forehead thunking against the cupboard door as he reached for his breakfast with sluggish fingers. And worst of all, he _missed_ him. Missed the way his eyes lit up whenever he was being particularly passionate, missed the way he wrinkled his nose at something idiotic Blaine did, missed the way he held himself when people thought they could push him down, the way he tilted his chin up in pride because he wasn't scared of who he was and that was enough for him. Blaine missed their pitiful staring contests where they'd lean over Burt's dining room table and just gaze into each other's eyes and claim they were having a stare-down if Kurt's father ever questioned them when really they were just watching one another. He missed the way Kurt would whisper critiques on outfits during Project Runway while they were cuddled together on the couch under a blanket and it was really too hot but it didn't matter because they were together.

He missed Kurt's shy smile, missed the rosy colour that brushed across his cheeks, missed the way he looked up at Blaine from under his eyelashes and bit his lip when he thought he was being stupid but was actually being incredibly sexy. He missed it all and he fucking wanted it back.

Blaine pressed his fingertips against his temples, rubbing gentle circles as he headed towards the door, coffee forgotten. Shoelaces quickly became the most impossible thing, fingers slipping over the woven strands as he scowled down at the worn Converse, toast clenched between his teeth. Everything hated him, everything hated him and it was stupid.

Finally managing to don his footwear, Blaine grabbed his coat from the closet handle, the leather sliding over his shoulders making him feel just that much better. There was a sense of peace that came with his coat. He felt stronger, like the whole day wouldn't be so miserable. He felt_powerful_.

School was absolutely ridiculous. Blaine didn't know why people willingly put money into some place where older people told you how to live your life and what to do. He slumped deeper into his seat at the back of the room, forehead falling forward to smack against the wood of his desk. It was useless. The only reason he even bothered to apply was because sometimes he got bored and his Grandfather insisted that he'd pay for anything and everything. And besides, it was a way to escape his father.

The teacher droned on about something relating to English, his monotonous voice clanging around the silent room like pots and pans introduced to an excited child. There was a little noise to his left that caused Blaine to roll his head against the table, eyes searching out the creator. They fell on a girl around his age, twenty-one or so, staring back at him. Her thin eyebrows were drawn together slightly, glasz eyes raking over his hunched frame with slight unease. What was her name? Melody? Mary? Melissa?

The look was unnerving. Her long fingers were woven together on her desk, wavy chestnut hair that was dip-dyed an electric blue falling over her shoulders. Blaine gave a little grunt in mock greeting, cheek squishing down against the wood with resignation. This just seemed to intrigue the girl further, pierced brow cocking as her eyes narrowed. _Was she even going to fucking say anything or just stare at him?_

"Are you okay?" _No._

"Yeah, fine. Why?" The words were muffled, eyes closing by their own violation as the girl gave him a dubious look.

"Are you sure?" He cracked an eye to glare at her, hands balling into fists at his sides.

"Why the fuck do you care?" he hissed out between clenched teeth.

"Because Blaine, you look pretty fucked up; like no offense but you look like shit. And you haven't been here for a week or so and frankly I'm surprised that you haven't gotten kicked out." She looked utterly bored –an expression often worn by himself-, studying her painted black fingernails with disdain.

"One, how the fuck do you even know my name? And two, fuck you." He pushed himself upright once more, scowling down at the desk top. Who was she to judge him? Who was anybody to judge him? They didn't know him, they didn't know his life.

"I've sat beside you since September and Mr. Ellis pulls a tantrum when you aren't in class which is all the time so I don't know why he's still bitching." Blaine chanced a look at her, eyes flickering quickly over the way she held herself. It was the 'don't fuck with me' stance. She gave off an air of subtle badassery that he was surprised he didn't notice before; startlingly icy blue eyes rimmed with a thin black, nose ring glinting in the artificial light as she looked back at him again.

"What's _your_ name?" Blaine's fingers gripped at the edge of the desk, narrowed eyes on the girl.

"Maeve. And before you ask, no you can't have my number because I don't want to be your buddy that helps you rob banks or go shoe shopping with you, whatever it is you gays do." She seemed to be amusing herself. At least one of them was having fun.

"I don't want your fucking number, Princess, but thank you," he snarled, grabbing his bag off the floor as the bell rang and starting towards the front of the class.

"Ah, Mr. Anderson. Finally deciding to show up for one of my lessons, I see." Blaine could have thrown up right there. The way Cameron Ellis wandered towards the door, silently eyeing the students as they slowly left the room. Maeve was the last to leave, giving Blaine a cheeky wiggle of her fingers as she slipped out of the classroom. The heavy wood door shut with a click, lock flicking shut behind it.

"I need more." Blaine leaned on the teacher's desk, head dropping back to look at the ceiling that was stained ungodly hues. _How did that even get there?_

"Blaine, you haven't shown up for my class in a week and you think you can just burst in one day and get whatever you want?" Cameron slowly made his way across the tile and Blaine couldn't help but relate it to a predator stalking its prey.

"Yes. Because you see, I have assault material. I could run to the school board right now and pull the innocent boy." He tilted his head back down to watch the teacher who'd froze in place as if contemplating Blaine's words. "I can see the headlines now; Cameron Ellis charged for sexual assault on one of his students." He couldn't help the sardonic smile that pulled its way across his lips as Cameron watched him silently.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, but I could. And that's what matters now, isn't it? So why don't you just give me what I'm here for and you'll get your payment. Easy transaction like always."

"How much do you need? And what am I getting as payment?" The older man's face quickly morphed into the smirk that Blaine was used to. He always assumed it was supposed to be attractive and sly and sexy when all it really did was make Cameron come off as a gassy baby. It was almost laughable. Almost.

"At least a week's worth. Actually no, I'd prefer a month or so. Considering I'm not a daily user to begin with. I want my money's worth, to say the least." Blaine watched his teacher with careful eyes, following the way the line of his mouth seemed to widen in success with barely contained disgust. "Payment is your choice. Anything within the guidelines we specified."

Cameron seemed to contemplate the offer, pausing a few feet from Blaine as he cast his eyes to the ceiling the same way Blaine had not long before. "I have been wanting a blowjob for quite some time. My wife has a terrible gag-reflex and doesn't like giving head and if I'll be honest, you've the best mouth I've ever had the pleasure-" the way the word rolled off his tongue was almost enough to make Blaine gag "- of experiencing."

"It's all yours. Just give me what I came here for first and we'll get down to business. Same as always." Blaine slid off the edge of the wooden desk, moving to lean against the chalkboard as Cameron began rummaging through drawers. It was honestly a surprise he hadn't been caught yet. It wasn't like N.Y.U was low maintenance. He was presented a small black cloth bag, zipped at the top with a tag attached to the metal that had Blaine's name on it. Always prepared. The look Cameron gave him as Blaine tucked the sack in with his own stuff was positively revolting; fingers thumbing open the button of his slacks and eyes darkened with lust. _Fuck._

Blaine's jaw ached, which was really saying something because he'd given his share of blowjobs and he was proud of the way he was never in pain afterwards. He almost felt like crying. They'd shared a lot of intimacies since Cameron became Blaine's drug dealer and the curly haired man had never felt as distraught as he did now; even after the first time he hadn't been this upset.

The halls of the school weren't empty, they never were, but it was about as clear as they'd get for the day until nightfall. The sound of Blaine's battered Converse echoed around the corridor as he strode with purpose toward the exit. His mouth tasted sour; salt and skin and other ungodly flavours twining themselves together over his taste buds as if it was supposed to be a reward. It wasn't. His fingers tightened around the strap of his backpack that swung from one shoulder as he tried his hardest not to throw himself down the few stairs to the door.

The air was crisp and cold already, grey-brown clouds covering the city as a few delicate snowflakes made their way past the stretching claws of the skyscrapers. It was three, maybe four o'clock and the people bustling by on the sidewalk didn't even cast him a second glance.

Sometimes Blaine wished he lived within walking distance. The subway was such a disgusting thing; garbage strewn across the platforms where people hadn't even tried to make it to the bin, trains that smelled like dirt and regret.

The apartment was warm when Blaine pushed open the door, Christian's quiet singing echoing from the kitchen. Blaine had put a stereo on one of the shelves, claiming that all meals needed music in order to make them better, because of course, people felt good when they listened to music. Christian had rolled his eyes and brushed it off and ignored the device as if it weren't there. Though there were a few times when Blaine had come back around dinner time –like so- to the quiet speakers working their magic as his roommate prepared dinner. The first time it happened, Blaine leaned against the doorway and grinned ear-to-ear until Christian noticed his presence and scrambled to silence the music, claiming it was on to stave off his loneliness. Now, the teasing didn't go further than Blaine giving a little tilt of his head in the direction of the radio and a scowl from Christian.

The shoebox that they called their home smelled of spaghetti and Christian poked his head around the divider to give Blaine a curious look. "Welcome back." His voice was quiet, barely masked inquiry riddling his tone.

Blaine glanced up from where he was toeing off his shoes, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth that he wouldn't be able to explain if he tried. "Hey."

The slightly taller man gave him a grin, disappearing behind the wall to return to the stove. "How was school?"

Blaine wandered to the kitchen –if it could even be called that- and slumped into one of the island stools. "It was school. There isn't anything exciting about school."

"That's a total lie. School can be fun. There are people to meet and things to learn and-"

"Christian."

"I know, I'm sorry. I just wish you could be happy sometimes. I know you don't think that you deserve it but, dare I say it, you're actually a pretty awesome guy." Christian threw him a glance over his shoulder while stirring the sauce-meatball concoction.

"Thanks." Suddenly the marble became the most interesting thing in the world.

"Blaine?" He glanced up at his friend as Christian began straining the pasta, holding it away from his body to avoid the steam with a face that resembled disgust. Why hot water was disgusting was beyond Blaine.

"Yeah?"

"I want to ask you something but I don't want you to like... freak out or run away or tear me a new one."

"It sounds serious, then. That means you should probably wait for a more opportune time to ask rather than when the stove is covered with hot things that would work marvellously as burning material." Christian looked horrified, setting the pot back on the now turned off burner with widened eyes that he cast in Blaine's direction. "I'm totally kidding. Believe it or not I think I actually like you." The last sentence was mumbled as Blaine stared back at the tabletop, fingers twisted together in his lap as he avoided Christian's eyes.

"I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," Christian cooed, bringing a palm to his heart and letting out a light sigh that was totally mocking.

"I'll fucking take it back, you asshole." His roommate gave a little chuckle, fishing in the cupboard for plates before scooping each of them suitable portions. Christian sat at the island beside him, sliding the porcelain across the stone and gaining a mumbled 'thanks'.

"So, can I ask or are you going to throw your dinner in my face because I'd really rather you didn't. I worked hard on that and this shirt cost a lot more than I'll ever admit." Blaine raised his head to look at Christian, mouth full of pasta threatening to overflow. He gave a small nod in the affirmative before dropping his gaze back to the food set before him. "What happened last night?"

Blaine almost choked, giving a feeble cough that did nothing but make things worse. Christian's hand was at his back, rubbing and patting over his shoulders as Blaine struggled to swallow his mouthful. Finally managing to empty his mouth he grabbed for the glass of water that sat before him, courtesy of Christian's thorough dinner preparations. After downing a surprising amount of the liquid, Blaine looked back up at his roommate.

"I saw him."


	5. A Sinner on the Right

**A/N: **Wow, chapter five already. OKAY SO I'm not sure how many people are going to hate me after this chapter. I'm so sorry in advance. Mentions of abuse by a parent and minor speak of suicide. Song is _Casual Affair_ by Panic! At The Disco. Make sure to read Lexi's [TheyCantTouchUsOrWhatWeHave] part to this because I promise it's the best. Enjoy!

_Hey, a casual affair,_

_That could go anywhere,_

_And only for tonight._

_Take any moment, any time,_

_A lover on the left,_

**_A sinner on the right_**_._

_Hush, hush, don't you say a word._

"You saw him? Who's him? Oh! _Fuck_. Are you okay? I mean obviously you aren't because that's kind of something big." Christian was rambling the same way he always did when he was either concerned or nervous.

"Shut up," Blaine laughed. Why it was worth laughing over was beyond him. "I'm just going to go to bed. Thank you for dinner and even though I didn't finish, it was wonderful. So thank you." Blaine was possessed, he had to be. There was no way he'd ever be as kind to anybody as he was being to Christian right now. His roommate must have been thinking the same thing if the gaping mouth that followed him out of the room was anything to go by.

The next few days were a blur. He stayed in bed over the entirety of both Tuesday and Wednesday, barely awake long enough to eat the food that Christian brought for him before drifting off once again to nightmares of blue eyes and chestnut swooping hair, of warm embraces and stolen kisses. There was the ever present murmur of Christian's voice outside his door, whether it be hushed phone calls or his quiet singing to the music that curled through the apartment continuously. Wednesday night was different. Blaine felt lighter for a reason that he couldn't place; like there was a weight lifted off his chest and he could finally take a breath of fresh air.

Blaine slept soundly for the first time in ages. A dreamless night where he didn't once wake up, screaming or otherwise. And it was positively glorious, despite it being 5p.m.

He stretched slowly, a little moan loosing its way from the back of his throat as his back cracked. He felt free and careless and it was exhilarating. Boundless, like maybe he could smile today and be happy and really live life out from under the storm cloud.

Blaine rolled off the bed, arms reaching above his head in another stretch just because he could and it felt so damn awesome. He couldn't help the little half-shimmy as he made his way to the living room. Christian was already awake, as always; moving around the space and humming quietly while dusting.

"Good morning." Christian jumped at the sound of his voice, feathered plastic jolting against the glass dolphin statues he was so adamant on collecting and knocking over one with an undignified squeal. Blaine fell onto the couch with a laugh –an honest to god laugh- as he grinned up at his roommate.

"Well good morning, Cheery." Christian tossed him a small smile over his shoulder as he righted the disrupted figure. "What lit up your candle?"

"I just feel really good today. I feel free, like I can _breathe_ for a little while." Blaine let out a light sigh, grinning dopily down at his hands.

"That's good. Breathing is a good thing. Oxygen is needed to live. Being alive. Breathing. Life is so _cool_, y'know? Like wow. _Life_. I—"

The smile dropped as fast as it had come. "Chris, what's wrong?"

Christian cast him a meager glance as he edged himself around the room. "Wrong? Nothing's wrong. Of course not. Nothing wrong here, no sir." His voice cracked at the end as he kept himself turned away from Blaine.

"Christian," Blaine pulled himself off the couch, reaching for his friend, "what the fuck is wrong?"

"Nothing." It was a squeak as there was a knock at the door, a firework of panic blooming across the taller man's face. "I'll get it." He pulled out of Blaine's grip, nearly running to the door as if he couldn't get there fast enough. Blaine didn't know what to do. Did he stand around and wait? Did he go do something? The tips of his fingers tingled in the reminder that he was supposed to be happy. Maybe he'd go back to his room and play with his keyboard. Music was a good outlet. He could make some of his own off this newfound surge of happiness.

Blaine padded back down the hallway, bare feet squeaking slightly on the polished hardwood. The second he stepped back into his room it was as if he never left. The warm glow of the sunset filtering through his blinds made everything wonderful again. As if Christian's weird deal never happened. He was alive and free and _wild_ and he just felt like laughing; singing out loud to no music and dancing with a stranger on the street. He spun in a little circle on the carpet, fingers touching his face as if he couldn't believe it was real. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like he was _alive_.

Blaine dropped down on the little leather stool in front of his keyboard and set to work. Smiling and swaying and feeling the music as he played in no direction, the smooth plastic keys bringing out a warmth he didn't remember existed. He was so happy he felt like crying. Like throwing open his window and yelling it out for the world to hear that he was _living_.

"What are you playing?" _No!_ No, it couldn't. It couldn't be happening. The warmth evaporated. When Blaine turned around he'd be faced with Christian leaning against the doorframe the way he always did when he watched Blaine play –although that rarely happened to begin with. This wasn't happening –it _couldn't_ be.

Blaine twisted on the seat slowly, the figure in the doorway unfortunately nothing like his slight yet sturdy roommate. The navy business suit looked so out of place in Blaine's small room of what _was_ a sanctuary only moments ago. He still looked the same as he always had, although more aged than before. Dark temples greying slightly, crow's feet deepened –definitely not from smiling-. His mouth was still set the same. Disgusted, disappointed, and disinterested.

William Anderson hadn't changed a bit.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Blaine spat as he rose off his chair.

"I got a call. Your friend said you needed some guidance. Some nudging in the right direction." William's voice was still cold; still harsh and empty and _icy_.

"Oh you've done enough 'nudging'. I've got the scars to prove it. You always seemed to wonder why I tried to avoid you, why I didn't want anything to do with you. You fucking _beat_ me for Christ sake." Blaine's father's eyes narrowed slightly as he took a step into the room.

"This isn't what I wanted for you, Blaine."

"No, of course not. You wanted a straight son who would follow directly in your footsteps and be your little clone. And when Cooper left for L.A you didn't have to pretend to be happy for him anymore."

"Blaine."

"No. You can't come into my house and try and tell me how to live my life. I left because I had the obviously false hope that I'd never have to see you again." Blaine could tell the second that his father's composure snapped. The way his carefully schooled face shifted into a line of anger and his fingers twitched at his sides.

_Blaine didn't know what he did wrong. He never knew. There were days when his father seemed as happy as he was going to be, even passing little smiles at Blaine over their dinner table when he bothered to make food for the both of them. _

_But then there were other days. Days where the second Blaine stepped in the door after coming home from school he could feel how wrong everything was. Feel the shift in the air that made him want to somehow get the school bus to come back so that he could run away. _

_He would always be in the living room on those days; eyes trained on the television that had probably been muted longer than it hadn't, a squared glass of scotch on the table beside him. He'd twist in his chair to look at Blaine, expression that may have been light and cheerful the day before now empty and loathing. And Blaine didn't know what to make of it. He knew if he tried to escape that his father would find him anyways. So he did as he was told and took everything thrown at him with stinging eyes and pitiful cries that nobody would hear. _

"I'm here to help you. You know, if you'd never done whatever you did with that _Kurt_-" the name rolled off William's tongue sourly, "- boy, you wouldn't be in this mess. What are you even doing here? Your arm looks like a fucking tally chart and I don't know what could ever possess you to do such a thing to yourself."

"This has nothing to do with Kurt! _You_ did this to me. You made me this way. You made me want to _die_. I hate being alive and you're the reason that I can't remove myself from the situation because then that would make you look like the good guy and make me look selfish." Blaine was seething. He brought his hand up to subconsciously cover his forearm, fingertips brushing over the newly raised scars.

"I didn't want this for you," his father repeated and he suddenly seemed so miserable, like he'd honestly planned for Blaine to be okay and that he'd failed as a father because he wasn't. Of course he failed. Why else would Blaine have mangled scars that tore up the golden expanse of his back and twisted around his ribs in a gruesome reminder of the way things were?

"Exactly. Because you wanted me to be perfect, and strong, and successful, and _straight_." The distress washed off his father's face and the anger was back. "You shoved this bible in my face and tried to take me to Church and make me what you deem normal."

"I just wanted you to have some religion. So that you wouldn't turn into... _this_." William's hand gestured at Blaine as a whole. "Kurt's probably what made you gay in the first place," he sneered, arms folding across his chest in the way he used to dismiss Blaine; to make him look older, as if he had authority and his son didn't and whatever Blaine would say didn't matter because he wasn't the _adult_.

"He did not 'make me gay.' I promise I liked boys long before I was fucking them."

"You know that it's a sin to lay with another man."

This made Blaine laugh, arm slipping to clutch at his stomach as he moved to brace himself against the wall, head falling forward and dark curls flopping over his eyes. "I'm pretty sure we've gathered that I'm a sinner, although it doesn't count as lying with a man if you're fucking against the wall."

"That's vile."

"So is my entire life to you, so why don't you get the hell out of my house and stop trying to come back and tell me how to live my life." Blaine couldn't help the smile that stretched across his lips at his father's expression. He looked positively _livid_. And yet he turned without a backward glance, the small apartment seeming to rattle as the front door slammed shut.

Christian.

His roommate was curled up on the couch, tucked into the corner and staring unseeingly at the dark television. He looked lost. Lost and alone and small. But that didn't matter because they had something that needed discussing.

"Why?" Blaine snarled from the opening to the hallway, shadows created from the golden lamp across the room leaving him in partial-darkness.

Christian's head snapped up at his voice, seeming to try and sink further into the couch. "Blaine..."

"Don't. I want to know why you thought bringing him here was a fucking good idea." He stepped into the room, moving around to the other side of the coffee table to watch his roommate.

"He's your dad; I thought he could help you get things back on track. I knew you couldn't have always been so sad all the time. I was just trying to help," Christian squeaked out, fingers that were twined together rubbing slightly.

"Maybe you should have asked what my relationship was with him before you tried to be the knight in shining armour."

"Blaine, I'm so sorry."

"He fucking beat me, Christian. He beat the shit out of me my whole life and made me want to _die_ and the only reason I didn't kill myself was because then at the funeral he'd be able to pull the victim card and make himself not look like the bad guy and show that maybe he did have feelings. But he doesn't care about me, he never cared about me. Ask before you do something." Blaine turned to leave, sufficiently satisfied with his monologue before Christian spoke up again.

"If I'd have asked, you would have tore a strip off me and yelled about how you didn't need help."

"It's because I don't need help. I don't need help from anybody."

"You're a human being, everybody needs help sometimes." Christian was standing now, voice gaining more confidence when he figured that Blaine wasn't going to tell him off. Too bad he was hoping too hard.

"I don't _need_ anything. I'm not your fucking charity case and I don't want your pity. So butt the fuck out and let me live what's left of my shitty life." Blaine started for the door, grabbing his coat off the rack as he went and sliding on his shoes.

"Blaine! Where are you going?"

"Fuck you." And the door to the apartment slammed shut for the second time that night.


	6. One Upon A Time I Didn't Give A Damn

**A/N:** This chapter contains child abuse although from past events and homophobic slurs as well as mentions of self-harm and small talk of suicide. This is the longest chapter I've written for anything, sitting at 7.3k words and you've all been waiting oh so patiently [or not so much which is honestly just a pat on the back]. I used the New York stuff from my knowledge of NYC when I was there and based Blaine's phone picture off my own that I had taken. This song is _Whataya Want From Me _by the magnificent Adam Lambert. Enjoy!

_There might have been a time when I would give myself away._

_Oh,__** once upon a time I didn't give a damn**__._

_But now,_

_ Here we are._

_So whataya want from me?_

New York was teeming with life; snowflakes sprinkling the city in a gentle white sheet as people rushed by. Taxis littered the street, honking at the stragglers that dared to cross in front of them. It was overwhelming as always.

Blaine tugged his hood up as he started down the street in no particular direction. It was going to be a long night.

_"Blaine, come here." His mother's voice echoed up the staircase to where Blaine was seated on the floor of his bedroom, action figures scattered around him. Blaine pulled himself off the carpet, grin plastered on his face as he scurried out of the room and down the stairs._

_Kylie Anderson was waiting at the door, suitcase in hand and eyes drifting around the house warily, as if she were nervous some monster was going to leap out from behind a corner and steal them both away. And something was wrong, very, very wrong. His mother was never nervous. She was always bright eyes and wide smiles and high laughs._

_"Mommy, what's wrong?" Blaine stopped on the last step, peeking over the banister that she was looking around and searching for any reason for her to be this way. She was a lot paler than usual, skin pasty with heavy purpling bags under hazel eyes - much like his own- that were dull and lifeless._

_She wore a brown leather coat, silk scarf wound hastily around her neck as her fingers clenched on the suitcase handle. "Nothing's wrong, baby. I just wanted you to come and say goodbye to me." She tried to smile, cracked lips stretching slightly in a motion that never touched her empty gaze._

_"Where are you going?" He dropped off the last stair, tilting his head up to watch her quietly._

_"I'll be back soon. Mommy just needs to go away for awhile." She slid down on her knees in front of him, abandoning her luggage momentarily to reach out and straighten his bowtie._

_"But why?" He just didn't understand. He didn't understand why she had to leave. Where was she going? When was 'soon'? Did Daddy know she was leaving? Why was she so scared?_

_Something in her face hardened, eyes narrowing slightly as she pulled her hands away from his clothes. "Just because."_

_Oh! She was doing that thing she did when she wanted Blaine to guess. She was playing a game with him! A broad grin stretched across his face. "Because why?"_

_"Blaine, don't fucking do this right now, please." He took a step back, heel catching on the lip of the bottom stair and causing him to fall back on his behind. Mommy never swore. Ever. She stood back up, hand rubbing against her arm slightly with a barely contained wince, sleeve slipping up with the movement and revealing harsh purple marks against her skin. From what he could see, it looked like fingerprints. Now that he realized, her hand was bandaged too, white gauze wrapped around the width of her palm._

_Blaine's eyes stung and his bottom ached slightly from his fall. She wasn't okay. She _swore_ at him. "I-I'm sorry," he whimpered._

_"Goodbye, my dear boy." She leaned over, pressing a dry kiss to his forehead and then she was gone, door closing behind her with a click. And he was all alone._

Sbarro was Blaine's go-to restaurant, even though he'd never admit it. He ordered his pizza and slowly clunked down the stairs with his tray, retreating to the back corner of the room. He felt so alone and so lost and he hated it, hated feeling like he was insignificant. Even though he was.

_Blaine was curled up in his room when Cooper got home, knocking on his open door with a grin that fell quickly at the state of his younger brother._

_"Why are you crying, Kiddo? What happened? Did the assholes at school make fun of your bowties again?" Cooper dropped to his knees in front of Blaine, arms opening up in that way that said he wanted a hug. Blaine gave a sniff, mimicking his brother's stance rather than moving to fall into Cooper's embrace._

_Cooper watched him carefully, inching closer to wrap his arms around Blaine's middle and scoop him off the floor into a tight hug. Blaine let out a little sob, burying his face in his brother's shirt and clinging around his waist as the shakes started to set in. He'd never felt this horrible in his life. He'd never felt so small and useless and _alone_. "Squirt, what happened?" Cooper's voice, although calm, was laced with something else. Something more. He sounded upset. Perfect, he upset more people today._

_"Mommy's gone, Coop," he sniffled out, fingers tightening in the back of his brother's shirt to make sure he couldn't leave if he tried to pull away. He wouldn't let someone else run away from him._

_Cooper stiffened in his arms, "What do you mean she's gone, Blaine?"_

_Blaine lifted his head to look up at his brother, tears still dripping from his eyes and rolling off his cheeks. "She called me downstairs and she told me that she was leaving. That she needed to go away for awhile and that she'd be back soon. I don't think she's coming back, Coopy. She left me all by myself and I was so scared. I've never been home by myself before." Cooper started to pull away and Blaine clung on tighter. "Please don't leave me alone." He was back to sobbing, cheek smushing into Cooper's army green sweater once again._

_"I won't, Blainey. I won't leave you alone."_

It couldn't have been any later than 7p.m.; customers still coming and going, laughing loudly and probably having the time of their lives in the city that dreams were made of. Blaine pulled out his cell phone, lighting up the screen and glancing at the time. 7:20p.m.

Blaine sighed, rolling his straw between his fingertips as he leaned his jaw into his palm. He just wanted to be okay. He wanted to be happy and he wanted to feel alive. Another minute ticked by on the mounted wall clock he hadn't realized was there.

_Blaine was nine years old. It was two years after his mother had left out and he was okay. He was still living and he still felt good about himself sometimes. Like when he got a good grade in school._

_Cooper was usually busy with either school or auditions for some community theatre and whenever he came home, he generally ignored Blaine anyways. So he was content with being content with himself._

_Mrs. Wood, his grade three teacher, was a really nice lady. She always praised Blaine, giving him stickers on his tests and calling on him when he was the first to have his hand up with a beaming smile. It was as if he was her favourite. He probably was._

_Blaine was always quiet in class, ignoring his rambunctious classmates unless he was spoken to directly and answering every question that was asked. It was safe to say that he was a good kid. He never got into trouble, preferring to sit alone in the back of the class during lunch time while the other's socialized. Sometimes he got weird looks but Blaine didn't care. All that mattered was that he was happy._

_Blaine bounced his way off the school bus, knapsack swinging off one shoulder as he skipped up to the door. His father's car was in the driveway, which was unusual because he was rarely ever home. He must be on break from work for once. Blaine smiled as he pushed his way inside, picking up the mail and taking it out to the kitchen table like routine; sorting it between his father's and the occasional thing for Cooper._

_Without even giving it a second glance, he swept all the envelopes for his mother into the garbage can._

Blaine sunk deeper into his plastic chair with a sigh, pushing around the remains of his pizza with disdain. He should probably go and do something. Maybe he could go to the Library.

_His father's Library was huge. Shelves upon shelves of books filled with things that Blaine couldn't even begin to imagine. He always felt safe in the Library. Surrounded by the smell of paper and warmth and words. Blaine was always in love with words. He was the best at English, topping any of the students in his class with his big sentences and intricate explanations. He always felt so happy when he could talk at length to anybody who would listen to him. He felt so _smart_._

_Blaine let his fingers run along the spines of the books as he strode between the shelves, smiling to himself at the rough texture. He felt like laughing. Like spinning in circles until he was dizzy and giggling until he couldn't breathe because he just felt so free. _

Blaine grabbed a book off the shelf, fingertips grazing over the worn golden lettering as he took his purchase to a beanbag chair in the corner.

_He was sitting in the back of the room when he heard the door open. Heavy footsteps making the wood under carpet creak in a way his small feet didn't. There were a few books scattered around him, each with little slips of paper marking his place in each one. Blaine loved reading; never able to choose only one book to read at a time and instead settling on several. He pushed the torn paper into his place and looked up at his father. Who was definitely not happy._

_There was a glass of something dangling from his fingers, an almost amber liquid backlit by Blaine's lamp. His face was cast in shadows as he looked down at his son, but something was definitely wrong. Something was weird, instead of smiling the way his Daddy usually did; he was scowling down at Blaine and his small collection of books._

_"What the hell are you doing?" his father slurred out, nudging his shoe-clad toe against one of Blaine's crossed knees._

_He tried not to cry. Today was supposed to be a good day. He got his report card for the end of the first term and he had A+'s through and through. He was supposed to be happy. "I'm reading." Blaine tried not to make it sound like he was being a smartass, because he knew how much his Daddy absolutely hated it when he did._

_His father slammed the glass onto the desk that held Blaine's lamp with enough force that the noise echoed through the room and Blaine jumped from his spot on the floor, fingers clenching reflexively into the hardcover of the book still in his lap. "Why the fuck are you in here?"_

_None of this made sense. His Daddy never swore. He never had that weird golden drink unless he had some friends over and he never _ever_ raised his voice at Blaine. Except here he was, doing everything that he'd never done before._

_"I'm sorry, Daddy, I just got home from school and I did really good on my report card and I wanted to rea—"_

_"I don't care what you _want_ to do! This is not _your_ house; you don't get to do whatever the fuck you feel like doing." There was a hand in the front of Blaine's shirt, hauling him up off the floor and he heard stitches ripping as his feet dangled centimetres off the carpet._

_"I'm sorry!" He still didn't know why he was apologizing but something had to be his fault. He had to have done something. Did he forget to clean his room this week? Did he forget to make his bed? Did he leave one of his dishes on the table?_

_"And what the fuck is this stupid thing?" Blaine's toes were back on the floor but the fist in his shirt didn't leave as his father's free hand tore at his bowtie. "You look like a fucking faggot, Blaine." He tossed the offending article to the side and Blaine tried so hard not to cry. To ignore the names his Daddy was calling him even though he didn't know what they meant._

_"I like them..." Blaine choked around the lump in his throat, swallowing hard and trying to pull away. His father's breath smelled like something horrible and Blaine couldn't get away, couldn't breathe with the miserable constricting smell that clogged his lungs._

_And then he was stumbling backwards, tripping over his books and something sharp was digging into his back as he fell to the floor. His father left without another word, picking up his drink and retreating from the room as if nothing ever happened. As if he hadn't just thrown his son into the corner of the bookcase and left him crying in the Library._

Blaine let out a shuddering sigh, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. He'd been here for too long and he was getting a headache. It was 10p.m. now and the Library was to close in half an hour. Blaine had finished a book and was halfway through the next as he tried to ignore the throbbing behind his eyes.

He slid out of the chair, dog-earing the book before scooping up his coat and heading for the front desk to sign it out.

_Cooper was never home and it sucked. Because the longer Blaine was left home with his father, the more he was yelled at for things he'd come to realize he didn't do and the more bruises showed up on his back._

_When he was, he was sitting in the living room, cell phone in hand, texting away and ignoring his brother as he tried to get his attention; tugging on Cooper's sleeve slightly until he was shooed away or snapped at for being 'so fucking annoying'._

_Today he was home and Blaine was sitting in the middle of the floor and chewing on his pencil as he did his homework. It was getting late and it was almost time for his bath. Cooper was in his chair with his phone, as always, although he kept sending Blaine weird glances._

_Blaine closed his duotang, sighing as he pushed it aside and looked up at his brother. "Coop, can you run me a bath?" He knew it was a long shot, he usually had to do things for himself as of recently._

_"Sure, Squirt." And then his brother was gone, taking the stairs two at a time and leaving Blaine staring stupidly at the abandoned chair._

_He picked up his things, going to the kitchen to dump them into his backpack before starting up the steps. When he reached the top, Cooper was sitting on the closed toilet seat, fingertips fumbling with the edges of his phone as he stared unseeingly at the porcelain tiled walls. It was unlike Cooper to be so quiet, so look so anxious._

_Blaine pulled off his shirt, turning away from his brother to carefully fold the article and when he turned back, Cooper was gaping at him. "Blaine," he breathed out, hand reaching forward to touch at the dark purple marks on Blaine's upper arm as his cell phone clattered to the floor, "did the people at school do this to you?" His thumb brushed over one of the marks before he turned Blaine around slowly, fingertips skating over the discolouration down the expanse of his back._

_Blaine shook his head slightly, biting his lower lip as Cooper turned him back around to look up at him. "Daddy did it," he whispered quietly, eyes welling up at the reminder._

_And then something hardened in his brother's face and he swept out of the room, thundering down the stairs and leaving his phone forgotten on the floor. Blaine picked it up carefully, placing it beside the sink for when Cooper came back._

_There was shouting that night and Blaine couldn't sleep, kept awake by the outraged cries of his brother and the much calmer although equal in volume retorts of his father. Cooper pushed his way into Blaine's room that night and sat on the edge of his bed, watching Blaine with careful eyes as he pushed the curls off his forehead. It'd been a long time since there was anybody around to look after him and Blaine fell asleep almost right away. _

The crisp air pierced through Blaine's jacket as he stepped onto the sidewalk; shuddering against the cold as his fingers tightened around the book and he tried to sink deeper into his coat, as if trying to disappear.

_Blaine was cold, so cold. The wind swept past him again, stirring up the snow in a tornado of ice. The air stung his bare arms, numb hands rubbing against them as if that would somehow warm him up. There was snow crammed into his hastily thrown on boots._

_He couldn't stop crying. Tears ran over his cheeks and froze, nose dripping pitifully and refusing to stop even as he attempted to rub at it. Cars whipped by on the road just past the tree line and all he could think about was how any one of them could be his father; any one of them could stop and find him and drag him back._

_There was a noise behind him, the crack of a tree branch and a worried cry of his name. _Cooper_. He turned around into the face of his brother, strong arms scooping him up out of the snow with surprising strength and pressing him close to a warm chest._

_"Blainey, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Cooper said, furious and relieved all at the same time._

_"Please don't take me back. Please, Coop." Blaine pressed his face against his brother's throat, freezing fingers curling against the collar of a black turtleneck._

_"You're freezing, we have to." Cooper was already started back toward the house and all Blaine could do was wail, squirming in his brother's grip._

_"_Please_! I don't want to go back and see Daddy. He hurt me again. Please don't make me go back. I'd rather _die_!"_

The subway was ever crowded, snow tracked in from outside soaking the platform. Blaine's shoes slipped against the painted lines, eyes flickering around to the people that surrounded the area. They all looked so professional; suits and briefcases filled with who knows what important information.

He made his way through the turnstiles, metrocard in hand before boarding one of the trains. He didn't know where he was going, nor did he care.

_His cheek hurt. The purple stain that twisted around the area looked miserable, the same as Blaine felt. He sat in the corner of his bedroom, arms wrapped around the legs that were tucked up close to his chest. Cooper was yelling with their father again and all Blaine could do was hide. He didn't know what he did wrong. He didn't know why his Daddy always tried to hurt him, why he always yelled and dragged Blaine around by the collar of his shirt. He didn't understand the names that were screamed at him. Blaine rocked slightly in his corner. He didn't cry this time. Crying usually made Daddy shout louder._

_There was the smash of glass breaking below him and Blaine jumped, fingers tightening in the fabric of his jeans. Cooper was home a lot more as of recent, sticking by Blaine's side when he could and playing with him. His father always lurked around, watching them from the open door with a glass of his weird drink and eyebrows pulled into a scowl that could have been permanent. Cooper would glare at him when he thought Blaine wasn't looking._

_But his brother couldn't always be around, and when he wasn't their father took it out on Blaine; shouting profanity in his face, grabbing handfuls of his recently gelled hair, ripping countless amounts of shirts. And he still didn't know what he did wrong, what he did to deserve it all._

Three hours and several trains later he ended up on West 72nd. Central Park, although well lit, looked dark. As if it could swallow him if he wandered any further down the path. The tree's branches seemed to reach down toward him, twisted claws curling through the shadows.

Blaine walked without direction, glancing at one of the signs that said _Terrace _in bold white letters.

_"Blaine, shut up. You're supposed to be quiet here." Cooper's palm smacked against the back of his head, an outraged yelp forcing its way up Blaine's throat._

_He brought up a hand to smooth down the nape of his neck as he subtly checked for any awry hairs disrupted by Cooper's slap, glaring up at his brother. "You didn't have to be a dick about it. I'm _excited_! It's my first time in New York; I'm allowed to squeal a little."_

_"There's a difference between being excited and fangirling like a thirteen year old girl at a Justin Beiber concert." Cooper rolled his eyes, steering him in the proper direction when they came to a fork in the path._

_"I'm fourteen and I'm not a girl," Blaine grumbled, pushing out his lower lip as he tried to look put-out. But he was still grinning too much, eyes a little too squinty and cheeks a little too full as the corner of his mouth twitched. They both laughed quietly, Blaine finally heeding his brother's warnings._

_"Oh my God."_

_"Pretty awesome, isn't it?" Cooper sounded entirely too please with himself, leaning back on one of the benches._

_"Cooper! You can't just bring me here and expect me not to start screaming," Blaine hissed, pulling out his phone to take a picture of the stone circle pressed into the pavement._

The light reflected off the white shards slightly, giving the memorial a ghostly tinge as Blaine wandered around its perimeter. The dark_Imagine_ stood starkly in the centre, black letters that held so much meaning within a simple word. The snow had been brushed away from the surrounding area, leaving a strip of concrete around the large circle.

He worked his way across, book tucked under his arm as he crouched near the middle and reached out with an almost tentative hand. He let his fingertips brush over the letters from beginning to end.

_"Blaine," Kurt whispered, nudging him with his hip as he rolled over on the bed they were sprawled across. "Blaine, look." He held out his phone, presenting Blaine with a picture of the _Imagine _memorial._

_"I know. I've been there." He couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips when Kurt's eyes widened slightly before narrowing in disbelief. He scrolled through his phone quickly, pulling up his own picture and shoving it under Kurt's nose._

_"Blaine Anderson!" And then his boyfriend was on top of him, pinning his arms to the comforter. Blaine let out a high laugh, squirming slightly underneath him."Why didn't you tell me that you went to New York?" Kurt's face was inches from his own, breath mingling between them and Blaine wanted more than anything to press those few millimetres into non-existence._

_"It never came up?" Blaine offered with a little smile, eyes crossing slightly with how close Kurt was._

_"That comes up in the basic 'get to know you' stuff! 'Hello, I'm Blaine and I've been to New York.'" Kurt's mouth brushed Blaine's as he spoke, the shorter boy's heart fluttering weakly as he chuckled._

_"You're ridiculous." Blaine smiled up at him, closing the distance to press his lips gently against Kurt's._

_"And you've been to New York."_

Blaine's index finger ran off the end of the '_E_' slowly, letting out a sigh that curled out in front of him in the night air. He was still asking himself the same question. Why? Why did he have to go and mess everything up when he could have just been the bigger man and done the adult thing? He didn't talk to his father anymore, anyways. In fact, he avoided him like the plague and all that would have changed if he'd turned him in was that they'd have lost contact a lot sooner and Blaine would have come out with many less injuries.

He dropped out of his crouch, ass hitting the soaking pavement with a little grunt. He knew the cold would seep through fairly quickly but he didn't care. He set the book on his crossed legs, debating if he should try and read in the dim light until he got too cold.

Blaine felt as if he could breathe here, this little circle embedded into the concrete a sanctuary for his thoughts and feelings. It was like his own bubble outside of the world. _Imagine_ was lain out between his ankles, staring up at him as if it were a promise. And maybe it was.

Imagine where things could go if he stopped being such an asshole to people he cared about, if he stopped doing drugs that never really helped him to begin with, if he stopped hurting himself over what he couldn't control just for a temporary relief. If he found Kurt and made up and did something stupid like kiss him. Imagine what would happen.

Blaine rubbed his fingers together, chasing away the cold that nipped at them as he slouched forward. Imagine if he was still the boy he was in high school. If he was in love with Disney, show tunes, and Broadway. If he had a loving boyfriend who tried his best to look after him even when he wasn't being particularly cooperative. Imagine if everything went the way it was _supposed_ to.

Unless this was how it was planned right from the beginning. That every day he'd wake up and miss someone he couldn't have, that he'd hate himself and the world and think of a thousand different ways to remove the problem before he was reminded of his father and how at Blaine's funeral, if there even was one, that he could plead innocence and talk about how 'what an amazing son' he was and even though none of the people in the room would believe him, they'd be quiet because that was the respectful thing to do.

Would Kurt be there? Would he be in the front row, the handkerchief Blaine gave him years ago clutched in his hands as he cried? Or would he be near the back, quietly holding his fiancé's hand and seeming unfazed that he was even gone? Probably the latter.

Was he supposed to always feel like crying or did things eventually get better? And that's what had him hanging on, clinging to his strand of life. Because of the idea that things could get better. Imagine if things did. Imagine if he could go an entire day just smiling at strangers the way he used to.

Blaine rubbed his fingers through his hair, tugging just a little as he stared down at the black letters that seemed to mock him in their own silent way.

_"Dad, I'm... I'm gay." The sting across his cheek came almost immediately and frankly he shouldn't have been as surprised as he was._

_"I fucking knew it. You've always been such a stupid little fag," his father was already screaming and that wasn't a good sign, even though he rarely spoke at a normal level to Blaine anymore._

_Blaine took a step back, fingers coming up to touch his cheek as he lowered his eyes to the carpet between them. "I'm not stupid," he whispered, eyes closing as he fought back the sting in his eyes that he knew shouldn't have even been there in the first place. He was long past crying at his father's abuse, but something about the way he said it, the way he spat out the words like venom, made everything ache that much more._

Blaine sat there for an immeasurable amount of time, staring unseeingly at the ground before him. His ass was numb, melted snow seeping through his jeans while the wind blew through the pinholes in his coat. He should probably get up, probably go home and make Christian stop worrying if the amount of missed calls and unread text messages said anything. But that didn't make him want to go any quicker. Didn't make him want to move from his place on the freezing pavement and head off to face the world that he was eventually coming to realize was a lot scarier than he'd ever expected.

Blaine snorted at his own naivety, throwing a little self-conscious smile at the memorial. He was never one to be smart when it came to himself. If it was about anybody else than he was all ears and advice, but if it had anything to do with his own wellbeing and his own place in life, he was a lost cause.

_"You're literally so oblivious." Kurt was smiling at him from where he was sprawled across Blaine's bed. The shorter boy tapped out a few more things with his laptop before sliding off the rolling chair to take up his position beside his boyfriend._

_"Why do you say that?" The movie opened across Blaine's computer screen from the desk as they settled in; Blaine with popcorn and Kurt throwing the snack disgusted looks even though he occasionally stole a small handful._

_"You just are. I've been thinking about our relationship and how much I liked you before we even actually met and you took _so_ long to come around. It's almost laughable." He knew Kurt was teasing, grinning up at Blaine from under his lashes with that stupid little flutter that never failed to do unspeakable things to his insides._

_"And I suppose you're much more aware, are you?" Blaine quirked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up slightly. Kurt choked on his laugh, hand slapping over his mouth to stifle the loud giggles._

_"That was the stupidest question you've ever asked." His eyes were so playful, the light from the monitor dancing over his irises and playing with the colours mysteriously. "Nope, that's a lie. You've asked sillier things." _

There was just something about the subway at night that calmed Blaine down. He didn't know why, considering during the day he found it the most vile and disgusting thing on the planet. Maybe it was the presence of people that set him off; the way they had no concern for anybody but themselves as they shoved their way through crowds and nearly tripped over garbage strewn carelessly across the platform.

But at night it was like a whole other world. A place where Blaine could settle into one of the seats and just listen; lean back in the plastic seat with his head resting against the glass window behind him and _breathe_. There were obviously much less people at night, although still a high enough number to make him the slightest bit uncomfortable.

Blaine lost count of the nights and hours he'd spent on the trains just going from place to place and listening to the world turn around him.

It was 6:30a.m. by the time he finally decided he should sleep. The doors at NYU would probably be unlocked by now, some students scurrying about at the early hours. And surely enough, Blaine got in easily.

He didn't know what to do. Why was he even at the school? What did resting have to do with the place he tried his hardest to avoid? Blaine pulled out his phone, staring at the stack of ignored calls and messages with disdain before shoving the device back into his pocket. That's why.

He made his way down the hallway, shoes squeaking loudly around the corridor. He was slightly uncomfortable; jeans still damp and briefs clinging to his ass despite his frequent movement. But there was no way he was able to change into anything anytime soon so he carried on towards the English classroom.

Stupidly and thankfully enough, Blaine's class was the only one that used the room the entire day, leaving it locked and abandoned the entire morning and it was a relief as he stopped outside the thick wooden door and pulled out the flattened hair pin that was stuffed into the inside pocket of his coat. He'd figured out the lock a long time ago, classic turn-style knob lock that was terribly easy to open compared to the rest of the classes. It was almost surprising that Cameron hadn't complained about it, considering the drugs he stuffed into the false bottoms of drawers.

The room was dark when he pushed open the door, the slightest hint of grey dusting over desk surfaces from the strip windows that lined the far side of the room. Blaine closed the door behind him before making his way up the risers to his seat at the back. It was silly really, that he would go right to his desk when he could sleep in the teacher's chair instead which was by far much more comfortable. But there was something about his own desk that made him feel safe.

His name was scratched into the top right hand corner with the tip of a compass that he'd stolen from the Math department the first day, and because of it being the only class that used the room there was nobody else to sit in his seat.

Blaine slumped down into the chair, arms folding over across the edge of the table before dropping his head down onto them.

_"Blaine, this is so bad! What if we get caught? We could get arrested, oh my God. This will go on my record. I _have_ to get into NYADA." Kurt was nearly shaking as he glanced around, eyes watching the road that stretched passed the school as if waiting for a Police car to drive by._

_"And we're in." Blaine pushed open the school door with a flourish and a grin, holding it wide for his boyfriend as he tucked his picking supplies back into his pocket. Kurt eyed him warily as he stepped through the opening._

_"What are we even doing here? I hate this place, why would I want to come back at night when I have to be here all day, too?" He anxiously shifted from foot to foot, nervous stare watching down the darkened hallway._

_"Because if we're here at night then we can go to the choir room and sing as loudly as we want and to our heart's content and nobody will be around to stop us." Blaine wiggled his shoulders, pulling out his little flashlight as he set off bouncing across the tile and heading for the room in question._

_"But we could just do that at my house." Kurt was quickly at his side, arm looping through Blaine's as his eyes rested on the shadows unlit by the curly haired boy's light._

_"Yes, but your house doesn't have a piano and I'm pretty sure your father would kill us both eventually." Blaine wrinkled his nose at his boyfriend with a little grin, stopping them outside the choir room and digging for his things again._

_Kurt leaned against the wall, watching his partner work with drawn eyebrows. "You know, it's rather unnerving that you can pick the locks of the school."_

_Blaine looked up from the doorknob, fingers freezing at their duties as he wiggled his eyebrows. "Just one of my many talents."_

_"Talents that could very easily have you arrested if used at the wrong time."_

_The shorter boy pushed his way into the choir room, flicking on the light and rushing almost immediately to the piano and pulling off the cover. "Don't be such a baby." His voice was teasing as he threw a grin over his shoulder. It was that grin that he saved for Kurt; eyes crinkling at the corners and all teeth, nose slightly wrinkled in a way that should never have been attractive and yet somehow it was._

_They sang together, Blaine eventually leaving the keys to grab his boyfriend's hands and swing them around the classroom while belting notes from whatever Broadway number they'd chosen at the time. They were laughing and stumbling, fingers clutching each other's arms and waists. Blaine felt so careless, like he could do this for the rest of his life and be happy forever. And—_

There was yelling. Why was there yelling? Blaine didn't remember that. Someone was shaking his shoulder and everything was way too loud.

Blaine sat up with a start, squinting against the light that had shown up far too abruptly and into the face of—_Fuck_. He slid backwards off his chair with a yelp, head knocking against the stone wall with an almost audible crack. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He watched the convulsions of Kurt's swallow as he slowly extended a tentative hand, fingers shaking from where he offered it to the man crumbled on the floor. "Blaine, calm down, it's just me. I've been looking everywhere. Fuck, you look awful."

Blaine eyed he hand before him icily as he manoeuvred his legs off the seat and pulled himself into a standing position. "It's 'just you'? Because that's supposed to be reassuring. Of course I look like shit, feel like shit, too." Kurt took a step forward and Blaine's eyes flicked to the other body that he hadn't even noticed was there until now.

"Please just listen to me, Blaine. We can fix this—together."

Blaine bit back a laugh, arms extending at his sides in a way that reminded him way too much of that day in the Lima Bean parking lot. "What the fuck is there to fix, Kurt? I'm not _broken_. And you can't just expect to swoop in with a dash of White Knight Syndrome and assume I'm going to leap into your arms like some damsel in distress." He cast another look to who he'd come to realize was Santana in the doorway, manicured nails touching her face and cocoa eyes wide with shock. Altogether it was an expression he'd never seen her wear before. She looked _scared_.

Kurt was shaking his head slightly, the movement drawing Blaine's gaze back to the man before him. "You just need help. Rehab, therapy, something. This isn't—" he paused, eyes resting almost sadly on Blaine, "—this isn't who you used to be. I _knew_ you, Blaine. I knew every freckle on your body and the way your right eye would twitch when you were upset and the way your mouth would frown ever so slightly when you hated something and that bright spark in your eye when you sand and the way you twirled and danced in the rain like you were a giddy puppy. Please just give me one more chance to find him."

And for a minute Blaine felt like Kurt was right. That all his words and pleads were real and the shade of his eyes was almost right, as if he could toss himself into their depths and get lost in this man all over again. The way the morning glow bathed his face and made him look like a fallen angel. "'People change'. I'm not who I 'used to be', this is me _now_ and I don't want your pity-party. I don't want your promised safety or your false hope because you gave me that four years ago. _Four years ago_, Kurt, and I was stupid enough to trust you then. But not now, not this time. I don't need you to come back and fucking try to 'fix' me so you can be the hero." Blaine shook his head, stepping down off the last riser and starting for the door before freezing. He was fucking trapped. He changed direction, moving to sit behind the teacher's desk.

Realization flashed across Kurt's face as his gaze dropped to the floor and he took a step forward. "You're right, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? This is all _my_ fault. You're like this because of _me_ and I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I shouldn't have come back here, I just..." And then he was backing towards the door and the satisfied smirk that had peeled over Blaine's face dropped off as quickly as it had come. "I'm just sorry."

"You're telling me everything I already knew, so hats off to you for reiteration, good sir." Blaine leaned back in his chair, arms crossing tightly over his chest as he schooled his expression into the cold and unforgiving one he usually donned. "Are you actually leaving or did you plan on coming back once you've found a reason to 'save me'?"

Something hard slid over Kurt's face as he pulled himself back up to his full height, squaring his shoulders and puffing out his chest ever so slightly. "I'm glad you got your way. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a wedding to plan with a man who is slowly driving me insane with ever kiss, every touch, and every fucking breath. I can't be with him and I thought that was because of you, but now I know I was wrong. It's my fault, all my fault, just like everything else. It's my fault for picturing your eyes every time I look at him and my fault for wanting it to be your arms around me when we cuddle and my fault for knowing I wouldn't be picturing anyone else but you when I stand up at the altar."

And then the dam broke. And it was fucking stupid because he shouldn't be letting himself get roped back into this mess. He should be the bigger man and leave and make Kurt know how it felt to watch him walk away. To bear his soul and confess just to have them run for the hills and leave you alone and aching and _dying_. And God knows Kurt deserved it. He deserved a broken heart, a broken _soul_. He deserved being told no.

Except Blaine was too fucking weak and the tears that overflowed sparkling and lonely blue-green eyes filled with so much remorse dragged Blaine into the current. "If I give you my number, will you stop stalking me?" he whispered into the silent room, arms sliding from his chest to wrap around his torso as his eyes fell to his beat up Converse.

"Yes," Kurt breathed out. And it was almost too fast, too sudden. As if he'd been waiting for Blaine to give in and that was nerve wracking because he'd let Kurt win. Blaine gave a little nod, barely a twitch of his head as he reached for the sticky notes on the desk, writing down his number with a pen before extending his scar-riddled arm towards Kurt hesitantly. _Look at what you did to me. Look how much you fucking made me hurt._

Kurt's eyes were sealed to his forearm as he took the slip of paper slowly. "Oh, Blaine." He tugged the curly haired man closer slightly, fingertips running over the raised lines. And that's when Blaine lost it, ripping his arm out of Kurt's grip as he stumbled back towards the desk.

"Go. I think you should go now." And it was like the club all over again. His chest was heaving as if he'd run miles. Kurt just nodded, stepping back slowly to the door and closing it behind himself with a click.

Blaine sunk to the floor, back grinding over the edge of the desk as he hit the tile. He pulled his knees up to his chest, arms wrapping around them as he rocked slightly and the tears began to spill over.


	7. Trying To Find The You That You Once Had

**A/N: **So this one is a hell of a lot shorter after that massive overload I posted last week. Thank you for all the new follows and reviews are honestly the best so if you want to give us ideas or something you'd like to see, feel free to say something and we can think about how to make it happen! Don't forget to read Kurt's POV by the amazing TheyCantTouchUsOrWhatWeHave. This week's song is _Sober_ by P!nk. See you again next Sunday!

When it's good then it's good, it's so good till it goes bad,  
Til **you're trying to find the you that you once had**.  
I have heard myself cry, "Never again,"  
Broken down in agony, just tryin' find a friend.

He'd made it home around 1:30p.m., cheeks stained with tears tracks as he shook not from the cold. The apartment was empty, eerily quiet which was surprising given Christian's track record for babying him. The lights were all flicked off, blinds pulled shut and casting the room in shadow that it barely saw. The sound of the ever-rumbling heating unit was a barely there murmur and Blaine's ears almost seemed to ring with the silence. It was as if his roommate never existed. As if the persistent man that he could actually call a friend just vanished off the face of the Earth.

It was 5:21p.m. when he got the text.

**I'm so glad we're talking again.**

Blaine set down his phone, eyes squeezing shut as his head smacked against the cupboard. The device slid off his thigh, clattering to the tile floor of the mini-kitchen that sounded far too loud in the silent house. And what the fuck was he supposed to say to that? 'Oh man, me too. Let's be best friends.'

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling as he let out a groan. Why the hell did this stupid man insist on ruining his fucking life even more than he already had? He was supposed to be gone after that day at the coffee shop. Blaine was never supposed to have to deal with cerulean eyes that could read every twitch of his face and long, light fingers that knew every line of his body ever again.

Except here he was, struggling through seeing him all over again and it was just another hole punched into Blaine's heart. He was only human, and he could only take so much before he was broken. Blaine let out a harsh sounding laugh, the noise grating out through his nose as he dropped his forehead down to rest on the knees he pulled up against his chest. He was already broken.

It'd been hours since the text message –five if he was exact. Blaine had migrated from the floor to the island, sliding onto one of the stools in a way that felt far too familiar to ever be healthy. His head hung between his shoulders, neck of a beer bottle swaying slightly between his fingertips.

_Please make me feel alive again._

_ Come back to me._

His phone was still sitting on the floor beside the fridge, screen dark as it had been since Kurt had texted. Two dark bottles were pushed to the side, staring at him as if mocking. _Why are you drinking, Blaine? You're being a baby._ He didn't know if he even wanted to answer Kurt. Did he expect him to?

_ Leave your fiancé, I need you more than he does._

_ Fix me._

Blaine leaned back slightly, downing the rest of the drink before pushing the glass to rest with the others. He wasn't drunk, he didn't like to get drunk at home because the most he could do was get outrageously high and probably end up overdosing.

He cast his eyes back towards the phone. On one hand, answering Kurt would feel like relief; like he could breathe and not worry the other man because that's what he was doing. Blaine knew him well enough to know that he was doing that thing he did when he was anxious, probably pushing off his feelings as if they didn't matter because he was Kurt Hummel and he didn't like people knowing when he was aching.

But on the other, would it make Blaine feel better? Would the weight come off his chest and would he stop hurting over someone he lost? Probably not.

_Come back to me._

_ I need you._

_ I want you._

Blaine slid off the stool, scooping his phone off the floor before retreating to his bedroom.

The carpet was starting to get hard. Which was stupid because it was carpet, it was supposed to be soft. He had a perfectly functional bed, why Blaine sat on the floor was a question he didn't have the answer to.

Maybe it was the way his ass slowly started to ache after awhile, a reminder of how long he'd been sitting around thinking because he was never good at keeping track of time. His cell phone sat in the middle of the room, face up where he'd dropped it when he entered.

_"Blaine," Kurt's voice was breathy when he finally answered the house phone after the sixth ring, "please answer your Godforsaken cell phone before you give me an aneurism."_

_ "I've been doing homework?" It came out as a question, Blaine's tone riddled with confusion as he pulled the device in question out of his pocket. "Holy shit, Kurt! You'd think the world was burning. _19_ messages."_

_ "You weren't answering and you usually always answer and I got worried." Blaine could tell that Kurt was doing that anxious thing; rubbing his fingers together uneasily as he chewed his bottom lip and rocked ever so slightly in a way he thought wasn't noticeable. Blaine noticed._

_ "There's nothing to be worried about, I'm okay." Blaine let out a little chuckle that he immediately wished he could suck back in his stupid mouth because there was every possibility that he may not have been okay._

_ "You can't scare me like that when I have no way of knowing. I swear to God I'll install baby monitors in your bedroom."_

_ "Kinky."_

_ "Blaine Anderson!"_

Come to think of it, his back hurt, too. And his foot was numb. He felt so useless, so unproductive because he could probably sit there all night and think about absolutely zilch and be fine with it. He could stare at the blank wall across the room that would have been smothered in superhero posters if he was still the same boy he was in high school and have nothingness running through his head. Life changes people, and Blaine was finally realizing how much that sucked.

It was nearing midnight, the clock on his nightstand betraying how much time had passed. And it felt like nothing. It felt like he'd just sat down and gotten comfortable and it'd already been two hours. Blaine let out a sigh, head tilting back to lean against the edge of his mattress and eyes watching the stucco ceiling.

Why couldn't he be normal? Why couldn't he have lived a normal life with a family that loved him? Why couldn't he have made it out alive? Because right now, he wasn't living; he was existing.

The wooden box still sat on his dresser, bronze wire pressed into the surface glinting slightly in the artificial light of his bedroom. Except this time, he wasn't tempted. He didn't have the usually overwhelming urge to get off the floor and tear up his arm until he couldn't feel anymore.

_ The noise the glass made once it hit the wall was sickening, painful shards that felt like Blaine's life shattering against the brick. The tears kept flowing over, blurring his eyes as he tried in vain to wipe them dry. The box his mother had made with him when he was in kindergarten was at his side, resting in the grass with an open lid as the sunlight seemed to make the swirls of metal glow._

_ Blaine dropped into the greenery, fingers twining into his hair and ripping slightly at the gel job as he let out a pitiful sob. He wasn't supposed to feel like this. He was never supposed to feel the way he did right now. He was supposed to be happy, singing and holding hands with his beautiful boyfriend as they planned out the rest of their lives together._

_ Not like he was dying, as if there was a hole punched through his chest and he couldn't breathe because the tears just kept coming and he couldn't stop shaking and why couldn't he _breathe_?_

1:47a.m.

_He was still crying, although the shakes had stopped and he was composed enough to get up out of the dirt. Blaine scooped the box off the grass, walking to the wall where he began to scoop up the remains of both the glass heart and his own._

2:38a.m.

_Funny how what was left of his heart was in a box that only held pain. It was like the ultimate torture chamber._

3:17a.m.

Blaine picked up his phone off the carpet slowly, fingertips running over the screen.

_I love you_.

He still didn't know what to say. Still didn't know how the fuck he was supposed to answer that stupid text message. He almost wished he'd never met Kurt. Wished he never had to deal with all the baggage that came with oceanic eyes and high laughs and nimble fingers.

**_Me too._**


	8. Don't Come Back For Me

**A/N: **Another relatively short one and for that you have my apologies. My exams started the week of writing this and it's been a little hectic. Perectlyimperfectklaine said in one of the reviews that the last chapter gave off a _Jar of Hearts_ by Christina Perri vibe and so I brought that up and Lexi and I decided to use it. And considering we were struggling for the song for this chapter, it was perfect. So thank you for that! **Warnings for talk of suicide and self-harm. **

_And who do you think you are?_

_Running around leaving scars,_

_Collecting your jar of hearts,_

_And tearing love apart._

_So __**don't come back for me**__._

_Who do you think you are?_

He shouldn't have answered it. He should have just turned off his phone and ignored Kurt because now all he could think about was how long it would take for the other man to send another. Would he even? Blaine wasn't in control anymore and it was scary as all hell.

Blaine rolled over with a sigh, grey morning light filtering through his blinds and drenching the room in shades. It was as if the sunrise that was expected to splash over the walls and fill the space with life was sucked of all its colour; vibrancy gone and leaving dull emptiness in its place. And that's what it was; it was _empty_. The same way Blaine felt.

He didn't know what time it was, but judging by the light it was probably 8 or 9 a.m. The sheets twisted around his waist and legs, almost clinically bleached threads scratching at his skin. Blaine's cell phone was laying face down on the carpet, slid across the floor to touch the wall guard. Part of him wanted to check it, to see if Kurt responded; God knows he was already awake, never one for sleeping in. Had he read it? Thought about it? Was he just as fucking broken up about everything as Blaine? It had seemed like it the day before, but Kurt was a lot stronger than he was.

And then there were voices; voices that were definitely not his roommate. They sounded far too familiar and yet so foreign to his sleep-addled brain. Blaine froze in the middle of the living room, eyes watching the door as the noises got closer. He inched toward the window, fingers touching at the latch as flight took over fight.

"Apartment two-twenty-one." _Shit_.

He pulled the fire escape window closed just as the doorknob twisted. The metal frame was slicked over with snow, freezing Blaine's feet as he pressed against the wall. This couldn't be happening. _Why was this happening?_ He should have just stayed inside; hid behind the door and fucking knocked them both out because this was _his_ house. They shouldn't be able to scare him away from his own home.

Blaine's breath swirled around his nose, curling in the air as a reminder of the temperature. Their voices echoed around the apartment and against the glass that was barely centimetres from his fingertips. He wanted more than anything to peek in and watch them, to see _him_. Except he shouldn't want to.

Blaine stepped away from the wall, turning to look over the railing. One move. One fucking step and he'd be done. He wouldn't have to deal with being alive anymore.

But he was a coward; he was a coward and even the thought of taking his admittedly pitiful life made his stomach roil. His fingers clenched around the painted black bar, paint rusted away in places and iced over. It'd be so easy.

"I need to see something." Blaine spun as the familiar sound of his bedroom door creaking open jolted him from his thoughts. _No_. His toes burned from the cold, bare torso stinging in the frozen air. His palms scraped against the brick wall once again, leaning around the edge to watch the man in his room through slits in the maroon blinds.

Kurt was at his dresser, fingertips grazing over the intricate swirls of metal design on the box. Blaine couldn't see his face when it was opened, but he could hear the quiet sob that fell from Kurt's lips. One hand was covering his mouth when he turned slightly, giving Blaine a profile view as the strip of photos of them together that was clenched in his fingers shook slightly. And he did look so broken; standing there holding the pictures that were stashed with Blaine's self-harm material. Because honestly, it was an object of use all on its own. Good, he deserved to hurt. He deserved to feel everything Blaine felt when he looked at that stupid picture.

And then Kurt was moving toward his closet, fingers grazing through his clothing in a way that was so _Kurt_ before reaching for the top shelf and pushing aside the blankets stacked there. It was a shoebox, off-blue from the dust it'd collected and lid torn at a corner. It was the shoebox he'd thought of burning so many times and he suddenly regretted not doing so. Because now Kurt had it, he had it and he was touching at the pictures of people who were once his friends and pulling out bowties with almost loving fingers.

_"You have so many of these." Kurt's thumb brushed at the edge of the bowtie that sat in the hollow of Blaine's throat. "Where do you even keep them all?"_

_ "I like them," he replied simply, smile gracing his lips, "and the top shelf of my closet. I have a box." Kurt's finger lingered at the corner, mouth twitching up to match Blaine's._

_ "They're cute, and they make you even cuter."_

And playbills; there were so many playbills. Ranging from Annie to Wicked and alphabetized. He remembered that much. He remembered sitting on his bedroom floor back in Ohio and sorting them, a little smile pulled across his lips as he chewed the lower one.

He couldn't breathe; the icy air was constricting his lungs, catching in his throat and strangling him. Kurt slid the lid back over the cardboard and nudged it onto the shelf before spinning to sit down on the edge of Blaine's mattress. His eyes seemed to scan the room slowly, as if he were probing into Blaine's head and taking all of his thoughts. He was in Blaine's _sanctuary_ for Christ sake.

And then something broke across Kurt's face and he was up off the bed, swishing through the room toward the dresser once more. He paused, as if he were looking for something before giving up and taking the box as he left, the hinges of the door creaking once again.

Blaine quickly pushed open his window, sliding in and hissing in pain as his frozen feet ground across the carpet slightly. It was gone. It was gone because Kurt fucking took it. He took his release; his oxygen, life, memories, _heart_ – the glass heart, of course. Blaine didn't even think he had one of his own anymore. If he ran he could stop them. He could stop them from leaving and take back his stolen belongings and lock himself away.

The front door clicked shut almost silently and the deadbolt slid into place. Too late. He was too late, like always; he was always missing his chance. And then he was pacing. His fucking feet hurt and he was still so cold that he was shaking but he didn't care. He left the room, pushing into the bathroom and turning on the tap to fill his hands with water. It probably didn't help that it was cold water but he honestly didn't give a shit. The water stung his cheeks, catching in the ringlets that hung over his forehead and falling back to the rich porcelain sink bowl. Blaine glanced up at his reflection; heavy purpling bags slung low under his eyes and his skin had lost all its vibrancy –all its life. He was so fucking empty that even his skin gave it away.

"_Blaine, you're better than this. You're so much better. Think of all the things that you could have become." _His eyes flicked to the figure behind him, chestnut hair swooping up off his forehead with an elegant twist at the tip and bright blue watching Blaine in the mirror. And when he looked back at himself he was different. His now dull and almost scummy brown eyes were bright and amber and alive; his skin was clear and smooth and his unruly hair was combed to its immaculate gelled posture. He looked the way he did in high school; he looked like he had hope.

"_Just look at you,_" the high voice was almost disembodied, figure behind him unmoving, "_you're a mess. You're _disgusting_. Look at what you did to yourself._" And his reflection snapped back into place, back into the drooping empty eyes, messy hair, cracked lips, and blotchy skin. Blaine's eyes misted over, fingers grasping at the edge of the sink.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he rasped out, barely able to breathe past the suffocating thump in his throat.

"_You did this to yourself._" He chewed on his lip, head slumping between his shoulders. Because it was true. He'd done it all to himself.

"Leave me alone."

"_It's your fault._"

"I said leave me alone."

"_You're such a fucking embarrassment._"

Blaine spun on a heel and the doorway was empty. Except turning back to the mirror and there he was. Standing there and mocking him as if Blaine didn't already know that everything was something he could have prevented. "Go away!" There was a sickening crack as the mirror shattered; fractures of glass peeling away as he retracted his fist. Now his reflection was just as broken as he was.

Blaine's fingers traced over the cracks, knuckles stinging where the shards had cut into him. He dug his nails behind a particular piece with a smooth edge that he knew from experience was sharp. Blaine ran the edge over the soft inside of his wrist, not enough to break the skin. It was perfect.

He glanced back up at his own face. _I'm done. I can't live like this anymore. _And no matter how much of a coward he was, he knew when something wasn't worth saving.


End file.
